Wish Upon a Star
by Syl
Summary: Threatened with separation from Bruce and Alfred by Child Protective Services, Dicky wishes that he were Bruce Wayne's real son.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Threatened with separation from Bruce and Alfred by Child Protective Services, Dicky wishes that he were Bruce Wayne's real son.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

* * *

Chapter One

Dicky ran into Pop Haly's open arms.

"Pop!" he shouted gleefully. Haly scooped up the small boy and held him in a tight hug.

"Dicky Grayson," Haly said gruffly. "You are a sight for sore eyes, lad. How we've all missed you." He held Dicky out at arms length. "Here, let me take a look at you." Haly's face took on a feigned look of intense study. "Hmmm...You look a mite thin, lad. Don't they feed you at that fancy-schmancy palace?"

"I say!" A British voice protested.

"Pop's just teasing you, Alfred," Dicky giggled. "Aren't you, Pop?"

"Aye, that I am lad," Haly said with a slight grin. "That I am." He held his hand out. "Alfred, it's good to see again. And you, too, Mr. Wayne." He shook hands with both men and then ruffled Dicky's hair. "Thank you for bringing the lad. It means a lot...to me and to the rest of the company."

"When we heard that Haly's Circus was finally returning to Gotham City, Mr. Haly...Well, we couldn't **_not_** come, could we?" Bruce said quietly. "The circus is Dick's home, after all."

Haly smiled his gratitude at the words. Then turning his attention back to Dicky, his expression took on a familiar, impish look. "I happen to have it on good authority, lad, that there's cake and ice cream waiting for you over in The Amazing Henderson's trailer!" Before Pop could finish getting the words out, Dicky had already taken off towards the performers' trailer park.

"Master Richard!" Alfred protested. He gave a long-suffering sigh and took off at a slightly slower pace after his young charge.

"Mr. Haly, is there a place where we could talk in private?" Bruce asked, adding, "And where we'll be undisturbed?"

"This sounds serious, Mr. Wayne," Haly said. "Is there a problem?" Bruce hesitated slightly, before giving a reluctant nod. "Does it concern Dicky?" Bruce nodded again. "I see." Haly gave Bruce a serious look. "We can talk in my trailer. This way."

* * *

Alfred stood back and watched Dicky stuff a huge piece of cake into his small mouth. The dignified gentleman rolled his eyes. The young Master was not only ruining his appetite, he was courting the mother of all tummy aches for later that night.

Ah, well, he sighed. At least the young Master's enjoying himself. He looked around. It seemed that the entire complement of circus performers was present at this impromptu 'Welcome Home' party of sorts. Everyone was talking at once and laughing out loud.

And, because this was Dicky's circus family, several were eating their cake and ice cream from (in Alfred's straitlaced opinion) rather precarious positions. Alfred watched a bit awed as the circus' bareback riders, the Donner Twins, calmly ate ice cream while one twin balanced herself perfectly on a golden palomino's bare back, and the other twin balanced herself on her sister's shoulders.

A few feet away, a juggler had several plates filled with cake and ice cream spinning rapidly at the ends of several sticks, while a contortionist casually brought several heaping spoonfuls of the delicious dessert to his eagerly waiting mouth.

Alfred shuddered slightly. This more or less explains Master Richard's table manners, he said to himself.

"Hey, Maggie," a sad-faced clown with a distinctive Texas drawl called out. "What do you suppose is keeping Pop?"

"I don't know, Harry," a large woman who was completely covered in tattoos replied. "Want me to go check?"

"No, Maggie," Dicky piped up. "I'll go! I saw Pop and Bruce heading towards Pop's trailer."

At Dicky's words, Alfred's head shot up. No! He couldn't allow the young Master to go. He might overhear Master Bruce and Pop Haly talking!

"Master Dick!" Alfred called. Too late! The boy was already gone. Worried, Alfred hurried after him.

* * *

"But I don't understand, Mr. Wayne," Pop said. "Dicky seems well-adjusted...Much better even than I would've expected so soon after-"

"It's been almost a year, Mr. Haly," Bruce replied. "Kids are resilient. Even after such a terrible tragedy." Bruce looked away, recalling the long, black days following his own parents' murder. It had taken him a long time to finally start living again, he knew.

Alfred and Leslie had been wonderful, helping guide him through the darkest times. This was soon followed by his lifelong quest for justice, a journey that gave his shattered life meaning. However, the single most important reason that had finally helped make Bruce Wayne whole again was a certain 50-pound dynamo that was also the current topic of conversation.

Without Dick, Bruce knew that he would have allowed himself to embrace the darkest recesses of his soul and never emerged back out into the light.

"I'll admit that it hasn't been easy," Bruce continued. He looked up at Haly. "Dick still suffers from nightmares, but not as much as before. I believe that he's really found a home at Wayne Manor."

"I tend to agree with you, Mr. Wayne," Haly said, looking confused. "So, then why?"

"Why is Child Protective Services threatening to remove Dick from the only stable home he's known since his parents' deaths?" Bruce gave Haly a brooding look. "Because according to Dr. Cunningham, his case worker, Wayne Manor was always only intended to be a temporary placement...until C.P.S. found a more **_suitable_** home."

Haly shook his head at the vagaries of government agencies. A more vindictive, hard-hearted man would have been gleeful at the sudden negative turn of events against Bruce. After all, hadn't Child Protective Services taken Dicky away from the circus, the only home that Dicky had ever known at the time?

Not to mention, that the same Cunningham woman had practically torn Dicky from Haly's arms-an act that he had at first arbitrarily blamed on Bruce. He still felt bitter that C.P.S. had given no consideration to the fact that he was Dicky's godfather. Practically his grandfather, Haly amended silently.

And now they wanted to turn the boy's life topsy-turvy yet again. He studied Bruce for a long moment. However Haly might have felt at first about Dicky not being allowed to stay with the circus, it was obvious to anyone that the boy was happy at Wayne Manor. Dicky clearly loved Bruce, and from where Haly was standing, he could see that Bruce returned the feeling in kind.

"I don't know of what help I can be, Mr. Wayne," Haly said quietly. "But whatever I can do...you've got it."

"Thank you...Pop," Bruce said gratefully. "And please...since we're practically related, call me Bruce."

* * *

Dicky stumbled backwards, just managing to right himself as he fell off the trailer's small back porch.

"No..." he whispered, fighting back tears. "No...! Not again!" Dicky started running, blinded by the tears that refused to hold back. He had overheard most of the conversation between Pop and Bruce. "No! They can't take me away again! They can't!" Sobbing raggedly, the small boy ran, stumbling along the uneven grounds. That mean ol' Dr. Cunningham wants to put me back in juvie, he thought. "I won't go back," he vowed. "I won't!"

After a few minutes of running recklessly, Dicky found himself in an unfamiliar area. A little nervously, he looked around the strange, new surroundings. Relieved, he spotted a sign letting him know that he had entered the carny sideshow tent area.

A sudden, chill wind blew in from the north. Shivering, Dicky looked up at the sky. Was there a storm coming, he wondered? Studying the clear sky, he shook his head. "Guess not," he murmured with a slight shrug. Noting that the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows along the vast circus grounds, Dicky thought about going back. It would be night soon.

Bruce will never let them take me away, Dicky thought with false bravado. He'll think of something. But even as he formed the thoughts, Dicky knew that it was only wishful thinking. The Family Court Judge hadn't allowed Bruce to adopt Dicky because he was a bachelor. She said that it was one thing to let Dicky live with Bruce, but it was another to let Bruce adopt him.

Dicky again felt the tears begin to fall. If only his parents hadn't been killed, he'd still be happy, living here in the circus. But his parents had died, and now he had no one. No one, that is, except Bruce and Alfred. Dick loved them both, as much as he'd loved his own mom and dad. Feeling guilty at what he deemed disloyalty toward his parents, Dicky thought about how quickly he'd grown to love Bruce like a father.

Although his guardian wasn't the most overtly demonstrative of people, Dicky knew that Bruce loved him, as much if not more than he loved Bruce. He thought of his parents. When they'd died, Dicky felt as if they'd left a gaping hole in his heart that would never heal. But that proved to be untrue, or at least, Bruce made it so that it didn't hurt as much. Dicky would always love his mom and dad, but Bruce was his dad now.

Even if that mean ol' judge wouldn't let Bruce adopt me, he thought darkly. "I wish Bruce was my real dad," Dicky whispered fervently. As soon as he let the words out, Dicky felt instantly guilty. How would his mom and dad feel if they'd heard him say such a hurtful thing? "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean it-honest." But that wasn't true. He had meant it.

Dicky looked up at the ink black, velvety sky. A few clouds had moved in, but for the most part it was clear. A single, bright star twinkled in crystal purity, reminding him of his mother's diamond earrings. Dicky didn't want to betray his beloved parents' memory, but he was so lonely and yearned so much for normalcy, for a place where he would belong that he figured, just this once, his mom and dad would understand.

Gazing up at the single, gem-like star, Dicky whispered what was in his heart. "More than anything in the whole world, I wish that Bruce was my real father." That way no one would ever be able to take me away again.

"I wish...I wish..."

Not paying attention to where he was going, Dicky suddenly tripped over the exposed guy ropes of a carny tent. Pausing outside the tent he checked himself for any cuts or bruises. That's when he noticed a dim light coming from within. Curious, he pulled the tent flap back and stepped in.

Funny...? The inside looked awfully big, much more spacious than the outside would've indicated. It was ostentatiously furnished, with a rather medieval touch. There was a man-sized suit of armor off to his left. Tapestries hung along two of the walls. One detailed a hunting scene while the other that of household servants going about their daily work.

Next to the fireplace (A fireplace in a tent? Dicky thought disbelievingly.) stood a beautiful, jeweled sword that was somehow jammed into a large block of stone. As his eyes fell on it, Dicky felt a momentary touch of vertigo. Unbidden, a battle scene filled with men on horses galloping madly across a grassy vale towards an approaching army flashed before his eyes.

Triumphant battle cries-"For England!"-rang in his head, but were soon replaced with the pitiful cries of the wounded. As suddenly as the vision had appeared, it vanished. Dicky's eyes snapped open, and he just managed to keep himself from falling headlong onto an ornate sofa table.

Re-gaining his balance, Dicky shakily held on to the table a moment longer. Looking around the strange surroundings, he noted that heavy veils curtained off what appeared to be additional rooms towards the back. Again, impossible, he objected.

Curious, Dicky stepped outside the tent and took another, measuring look at it. Walking inside again, he shook his head. Impossible. The outside was smaller than his room, yet the inside looked almost as impressive in size as the manor's grand ballroom. How'd they do that, he wondered?

"Magic, of course."

Dicky jumped, startled by the unexpected voice. "What?"

"You asked how the inside seems so much larger than the outside," a disembodied voice replied. "The answer...magic, of course."

Dicky stared in the direction of the voice. It was coming from beyond the curtain of veils. "Hey!" he protested. "I didn't say anything!" At least, I don't think I did, he added. How did he know what I was thinking?

"Like I said," the voice said cheerfully, "magic!" At his words, an elderly gentleman suddenly appeared in the midst of the mysterious veiled entrance. He wore a flowing gown that in Dicky's mind shone with an inner glow. Oddly, when Dicky looked away, it appeared that the glow came from a constellation of stars imbedded onto the gown itself. However, when he looked directly at the robe, the star field disappeared and was replaced with that strange afterglow. Long white hair coupled with an elegant beard and well-worn staff completed the picture, giving the new arrival a wizened if eccentric touch.

"Who are you?" Dicky asked.

The stooped old man beamed a bright smile that immediately turned pensive. "Who am I?" he asked softly, almost as if speaking to him. "Who am I?" He repeated, giving Dicky a serious look. "Well, Dicky...May I call you Dicky?" At Dicky's nod, he continued, "That's a very serious question. I go by many names." He looked away momentarily. "Let's see...some have called me 'Gododdin.' That idiot Geoffrey of Monmouth referred to me as 'Myrddin.' Still others have called me Llallogan." He smiled at Dicky. "But, to be truthful, I've always preferred 'Emrys'."

"Emrys?"

"It was the name my mother gave me."

"Oh." Pause. "How come you know **_my_** name?" Dicky asked.

"I know many things, Dicky. Many things. But enough about me. What about you? Why do **_you_** have so many names?"

Dicky shrugged. "Mommy said I was named 'Richard' after my grandfather and 'John' after my dad."

"Yes...I see. I see." As he spoke, Emrys sat down his expression thoughtful. "Your mother and father were very wise, Dicky. Carrying on the family name is a great responsibility. Did you know that?"

Dicky nodded at first, then his expression became unsure and he shrugged his shoulders, but then nodded once more. "I suppose-"

"You're called 'Robin' aren't you?" Emrys asked. Ignoring Dicky's look obvious shock, he continued, "You were born on the first day of spring, bringing new life and hope to a man and woman who had all but given up such hope." He tsked, shaking his head. "Oh, but no...no, that's how it happened in the other timeline. No, here you were born to the high wire, to a family of aerialists. While there...no, it's better this way. There you would have to face **_him_** yet again-"

"What do you mean?" Dicky asked, not having a clue as to what Emrys was talking about.

Emrys started at Dicky's question as if awakening from a dream. He gave the boy a penetrating look, and instead of answering him, said, "You remind me of another little boy I once knew. Always asking questions, that one. I used to call him 'Wart'-"

"Wart?" Dicky scoffed. "That's a silly name."

"A name given in affection to another is never silly, my dear boy," Emrys chastised.

"Sorry," Dicky mumbled. Then as way of covering up his discomfiture, he asked, "What was Wart like?"

"He was very bright," Emrys said, his eyes looking back. "A happy child, he had no idea what the Fates had in store for him. He grew up to be a great man-very brave and very just."

"He sounds like Bruce," Dick said, "my guardian." Emrys smiled down at him.

"Yes, very much like your guardian. And you're very much like him, too." Studying the boy closely, he said. "You look like your guardian, Dicky. Did you know that?" Dicky nodded.

"Yeah...a lot of people have told us." He paused, then added in disgust, "Mostly grown-up girls, though. And then they always giggle, like this." Dicky covered his mouth and mimicked the high, mocking laughter of some of the women who'd commented on his resemblance to Bruce. "Really silly."

"In another time and place," Emrys intoned softly, "Bruce Wayne might have been your father. Did you know that?" His eyes wide, Dicky shook his head. Leaning on his staff for support, Emrys stood. To Dicky's eyes, he seemed to have grown several feet. In fact, his considerable breadth seemed to be almost covering the vast interior of the tent.

Or had Dicky shrunk in size? He felt confused, woozy. The air inside the tent had grown heavy, close. The universe seemed to be spinning madly. Nothing appeared as it should be.

"Hear me, Richard John Grayson. You are a brave and noble soul, one reborn countless times through the ages. I knew you once as Wart. Others called you Arthur. Many called you Majesty. You have been a soldier, a scholar, an artist, and philosopher. In other lifetimes, you have discovered the cures for various diseases, fought for the poor and helpless in times of strife, and led a revolt against a tyrannical despot.

"In all of your incarnations, you have never asked for anything of yourself, save now." He gazed down from his vast height upon the small boy.

Dicky blinked, suddenly brought back to earth. He looked around. What had just happened? While Emrys had been speaking, it seemed to Dicky that he had been transported to some place else-many other places, in fact. Places he'd never seen before in his life but that were strangely familiar to him.

"Emrys...what?

"Not **_what_**, Dicky," Emrys said gently. "**_Where_**. Where were you just now? Do you know?" Dicky shook his head, confused. "Where do you want to be?" Emrys asked. He gazed intently into Dicky's eyes, seemingly holding him frozen in place. "Where do you **_wish_** to be?"

Dicky experienced a twinge of momentary panic. He didn't understand anything that the magician or sorcerer, because that's what Dicky had decided that Emrys must be, meant. He shook his head. What had Emrys asked him? Where did he want to be?

"I don't understand-" Dicky stammered.

"My dear boy," Emrys said solemnly. "The universe is offering you a great gift. But in order to choose wisely, you must know what it is you **_really_** want. Do you want this safe existence that the Fates have chosen for you? Or do you wish to explore your true path...the path you were meant to follow?"

"I-I don't know what? I?" Dicky felt a rising panic as he stumbled for his words. What did he want? What had Emrys meant? He didn't know. All he knew was that deep in his heart he wanted to stay with Bruce. "I want...I wish..." He stopped suddenly. Emrys had laid his hand on Dicky's shoulder in warning.

"Dicky, before you say anything else, I must warn you that the path you seek is fraught with dangers. The Fates have you offered you this existence for your own protection. To change what is...to ask for what you want in your heart may not be what-"

"I wish that Bruce Wayne was my real father!"

As soon as he uttered the words, the universe around Dicky-as well as time itself-seemed to bend, twist, and turn in on themselves.

End of Part 1


	2. Chapter 2

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster!

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Two

* * *

Dicky blinked, momentarily disoriented. Where was he? He looked around. He was standing in the deserted outskirts of the circus grounds. The chill wind he'd felt before started up again. It picked up debris from the circus and tossed it around the dusky grounds-empty wrappers, paper cups, and other miscellaneous rubbish.

What had happened? One minute he was talking to that strange man. What was his name again? Emrys? Funny...I don't remember any magician named Emrys at Haly's from before. Where'd he go? For that matter, what happened to his **_tent_**?

Shaking his head in confusion, Dicky started back. Probably a magic trick, he decided. I'll ask Pop. As he headed up the midway, he suddenly remembered why he'd taken off in such a careless, headlong flight. C.P.S. wanted to take him away from Bruce again. He felt the tears threaten once more, but angrily fought them off.

"Cut it out, Grayson!" he muttered. "You're not a little kid anymore. I'm big enough to take care of myself. I don't need anybody. Besides...I'm a superhero, right?" A single tear spilled of its own accord. "Some hero," he ground out in self-disgust.

Sadly, he trudged back to the main circus grounds. Turning the corner around the Big Top, Dicky was surprised by the frenzied activity around him. Off to his left, someone called, "There he is!" and "I've found him!" Others quickly chimed in:

"Where?"

"Is he all right?"

"Oh, thank goodness! I'd never have forgiven myself!"

As the voices gathered momentum, Dicky found himself surrounded by the circus performers. Family and friends gathered around him, each in turn taking him in their arms, hugging him in relief and then passing him off to someone else.

"Oh, Dicky, you gave us all such a fright!"

"What happened? Where have you been?"

Startled, Dicky realized that the others must have become worried about him when he'd disappeared. Feeling suddenly guilty over his rash actions, he apologized. The circus people were his family, after all. They loved him as much as he loved them and he'd caused them undue worry.

"I'm sorry, everybody. I guess I wasn't thinking."

"As long as you are safe, Master Richard," a cultured British voice intoned formally. "For that we are indeed very thankful."

Seeing Alfred, Dicky launched himself at the loyal family friend. "Alfred!" he cried, hugging Alfred from around the waist. "Am I glad to see you!"

"And I you, Master Dick," Alfred said, fondly stroking the boy's dark head.

"Me, too, Dick," another voice added. It was a much deeper voice whose hushed quality somehow imbued it with even greater emotion. Bruce. Dicky's eyes lit up when they alighted on his guardian.

He was instantly in Bruce's arms and felt himself being lifted up in the air. Strong, child-sized arms and legs quickly wrapped themselves around the billionaire's neck and waist respectively, and a small dark, head rested comfortably on his massive shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," Dicky said softly. "I promise I'll never do it again."

"It's okay, chum. Everything is going to be okay, I promise."

In all the excitement of being reunited with his guardian, Dicky forgot about his strange encounter with the magician.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Working on a case."

"What case?"

"The Joker."

"What's the Joker?"

"You mean, who's the Joker?"

"Oh." Pause. "So, who's the Joker?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Oh." Pause. "So, what are you doing?"

Sigh. The kid sure was a question-asker. Sometimes it was enough to make the Dark Knight want to crawl into a cave. Oh, wait. We **_are_** in a cave. Taking great care not to show his annoyance at the interruption, Batman turned a patient eye on his protégé.

Robin was currently hanging upside down (and quite perilously, Alfred would say) from one of the highest apparatuses in the cave gym. Batman knew that this particular position afforded the junior crimefighter-in-training the best view over his mentor's shoulders.

Giving Robin one of his rare half-smiles, he jerked his head towards himself.

"C'mere." Robin immediately flew off the high bar, flipping several times in midair and landing easily on his feet. Batman gave a mental headshake. The boy's moves were sheer poetry in motion.

Pulling a lab chair next to him, Batman padded the seat. Robin climbed on, perched at a crouch. He leaned in, resting his tiny chin on his gloved fist. "What are we doing?" Batman ruffled the boy's hair. The "we" hadn't escaped the Dark Knight's attention.

"'**_We_**' are attempting to make a DNA match on the physical evidence that this new perp left behind."

"What's DNA?"

"Deoxyribonucleic acid."

"Huh?"

"It's a sort of biological blueprint that makes up all living things. It's comprised of any of various nucleic acids that are usually the molecular basis of heredity. They are usually localized in cell nuclei and are constructed of a double helix held together by hydrogen bonds-" At Robin's glazed look, he stopped. "Let's just say that it's a kind of cellular fingerprint, unique to each individual."

"Oh."

"Do you understand?"

"Uh-huh."

"Really?"

"Sure. It's a new way for you to catch bad guys."

"Exactly," Batman said seriously. "That's exactly what I said."

"See? I get it," Robin said nonchalantly. "So, what are we doing?"

Mentally rolling his eyes, Batman tried another tack. "Let me see if I can make it easier," he said. "Here, take off your left glove." Robin did as asked. Taking the boy's diminutive hand in his, Bruce reached for a sterilized needle.

"Whoa!" Robin protested, jerking his hand back. "You didn't say anything about needles!"

"It won't hurt a bit," Batman promised.

"Oh, yeah? Let's see you do it, then."

"All right, you're on." Batman removed his heavy gauntlets and carefully pricked the middle finger of his left hand. Taking a thin glass tube, he quickly collected a blood sample and transferred it into a larger test tube. He repeated the process three more times. Finally, he applied a disinfectant to a cotton ball and lightly pressed it on his finger.

"See? It didn't hurt at all."

"Well...okay," Robin agreed reluctantly. Giving Robin an amused glance, Batman performed the same procedure on the boy. The Dark Knight experienced a moment of pride when Robin didn't so much as flinch at the admittedly sharp sting of the needle on his fingertip. After the test tubes were ready, Robin gave Batman a quizzical look. "Now what?"

"Now we will attempt to build a DNA profile on the two of us." At Robin's still blank look, he decided to show him rather than explain the process. "Dick, what is one of the first steps that a thorough investigator must do to solve a crime?"

"That's easy," Robin said confidently. "Eliminate all the possible suspects."

"That's right. And what is one of the ways that we do that?"

"By sifting through all the physical evidence." Robin's answers were quick and sure, a sign that he had been listening under his exacting mentor's tutelage.

"What then?"

"Then..." Robin paused, uncertainly. "Finding an M.O. that matches?"

"That's certainly one way," Batman conceded. "Another way is to find physical evidence that ties the suspect to the crime. We get that from fingerprints and from-"

"Blood type?"

"Good! What else?"

"Umm...maybe a physical description?"

"Yes, you get the picture." Batman held his hand up to indicate that Robin had answered sufficiently. "DNA profiling is nothing more than a new investigative tool to assist in identifying possible suspects, and hopefully eliminating them."

"You said it's like a fingerprint. Does that mean that everybody's DNA is different?"

"Now that's a good question, son." Batman gave Robin a proud look. The boy seemed to grow ten feet. "Each person's DNA profile is unique; however, each of us also carries the DNA profile of our parents. So, let's say we have a child that's been lost or kidnapped. A child is found who matches the description of the missing child. We then try to identify the child through not just his own DNA, but through that of one or both of his parents."

"I think I get it," Robin said. "Our DNA is unique to each of us, but just like hair and eye color, we get our DNA from our parents."

"Exactly!"

"So that's why I have blue eyes. 'Cause my mom had blue eyes."

"I think you've got it."

Giving Bruce a serious look, Robin added. "Funny, but my eyes didn't really match my mom's. We both had blue eyes, but hers were a different blue-with green specks. Mine are more like yours." Looking away, Robin turned pensive. "Funny how sometimes things happen like that, huh?"

"Yes, Dick," Bruce said, a lump in his throat. "Very funny."

"So, what do we do next?"

* * *

"But it's impossible, Bruce!" Leslie waved the test results she held in her hands. It was the third Saturday of the month, the busiest morning at her clinic. Bruce had called her and asked (No, demanded!) to see her ASAP. Leslie had been forced to leave her clinic, already understaffed on the one day of the month when she was needed the most. Exasperated, she insisted, "You must have made some mistake!"

Bruce stood up from behind his massive desk and walked around towards her. They were in the Wayne study, the wedding portrait of Thomas and Martha Wayne looking down at them. (Was it accusingly? Leslie wondered.)

"I don't make mistakes, Leslie," Bruce said matter-of-factly. "But in the outside chance that perhaps I did, I want you to help verify the findings. I have a friend in Star Labs, Dr. Ray Palmer, who's an expert in molecular biology, among other fields." Bruce didn't add that in his spare time Dr. Palmer was also his fellow Justice Leaguer known as The Atom. "I've already called him and explained the situation. He's agreed to help."

"You told him?" Leslie was shocked. "An outsider?" Bruce rarely confided in even those closest to him, and never with anyone outside his inner circle.

"Ray isn't exactly an outsider, Leslie." Bruce paused, unwilling to betray his friend's secret. "I'm sorry, that's all I can say." Leslie nodded.

"Very well, Bruce. I'll go over to Star Labs first thing tomorrow-"

"Today," Bruce interrupted. "Ray's expecting you at three this afternoon." It was 2:30 pm already.

"I guess I'd better leave now, then," Leslie said. Walking over to Bruce she placed a gentle hand on his cheek. "Bruce...if these results are true, how are you going to explain them to Dicky? What are you going to say?"

Bruce took her hands in his and leaning over kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "I'll tell him the truth, Leslie. That he's my son and that no one will ever be able to take him away from me again."

Feeling her eyes tear up, Leslie broke away and headed towards the door to the study. Pausing at the entrance, she asked, "Have you told Alfred yet?" Bruce shook his head, 'no.' Leslie sighed. "When will you tell them?"

"Not yet. Not until the results are in. There's no point in getting their hopes up, especially if the tests come back negative."

Leslie nodded. "Of course. What will you do in the meantime?"

Bruce's countenance took on its normal, brooding expression. "Re-visit my past."

End of Part 2


	3. Chapter 3

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster!

* * *

Wish Upon a Star 

By Syl Francis

Chapter Three

* * *

"Dr. Palmer?" 

Ray looked up from his electron microscope. His experiment had been successful. Soon, Star Labs would introduce to the world an entirely new field in nano-biology. Excited over his findings, he was annoyed by the interruption. Before he could chew out his lab assistant, however, the assistant informed him that his 'special' appointment was here.

"Dr. Leslie Thompkins, of the Wayne-Thompkins Clinic, is here to see you, sir. She says she has a three o'clock appointment with you."

Ray nodded. "Of course, Brian. Please, send her in." As he waited, Ray glanced over his notes, updating them while the information was still fresh in his mind. His findings could serve as a breakthrough in finding cures for various cancers, birth defects, mental illnesses...the list was endless.

"Dr. Palmer?" a feminine asked hesitantly. "Dr. Ray Palmer?"

Ray looked up, his eyes momentarily unfocused. Once again he had gone deeply into his work and basically locked out the rest of the world. He took in the gray-haired, middle-aged woman in sensible shoes and clothes. A pair of sparkling blue eyes the color of an April morning smiled at him. Ray instantly liked what he saw.

"Dr. Thompkins?" he asked. At her nod, he added, "Ray Palmer at your service. Any friend of Bruce Wayne's-" He took her offered hand and shook it without finishing the statement. It was obvious that it didn't need finishing. If this woman was in Bruce's confidence, then she was an extraordinary woman indeed.

"Please, call me Leslie."

"Very well...Leslie. And you may call me 'Ray'." He took her coat and offered her a chair. "So tell me, Leslie. How do you come to know Bruce Wayne?"

Leslie smiled. "It's a long story. I've known Bruce since he was a boy. I was very close friends with his parents. His father founded the Wayne-Thompkins Clinic and Bruce has continued to fund it. You could say he pays the bills." Giving him a sly smile, she added, "Now it's my turn...how do **_you_** know Bruce?"

"Let's just say that we have some mutual interests," Ray said enigmatically. He then added, "And Wayne Enterprises is one of Star Labs largest stockholders, so you could say that he pays our bills, too." The two laughed appreciatively at his words.

Becoming suddenly serious, Ray got down to business. "Did you bring the specimens?"

* * *

It was almost midnight when Ray called it quits. "The results won't be ready for another few hours, Leslie. Why don't I take you home?" 

"Oh, that's all right, Ray. I drove myself here."

"In that case, let me walk you to your car."

"But what about?"

Ray gently took Leslie's arm. "I promise you that I'll call you as soon as the results are ready. Scout's honor." Leslie nodded. It had been a long day and she was tired.

"Ray...you know that no one except yourself-"

"I know, Leslie. Everything is locked up in the bio-vault, safe and secure for the night. I've left strict instructions that no one is to tamper with the cultures. Believe me, the last man I want on my bad side is Bruce Wayne." Shuddering, he thought to himself, All I need is Batman stalking me late at night. The Atom knew he couldn't shrink down to a size small enough in order to escape the Dark Knight's wrath.

* * *

As Leslie and Ray stepped into the elevators, a lone figure emerged from the lab's storeroom. Brian, the lab assistant, hurried over to Ray's desk. He knew that Ray was dissatisfied with his work. He'd overheard him talking to the assistant head of the nano-biological department that Brian's work so far had been sub-standard. 

Brian needed this position. In order to be accepted into the doctorate program at Gotham State University he had to have so many lab hours working in his field. I'll show him, Brian thought. He knew that Ray had completed his findings on the nano-med experiment he'd been running. If he knew Ray, he hadn't taken the time to change the combination to the bio-vault like he should.

Better yet, Ray had probably left behind his-

Searching through Ray's desk, Brian stopped in triumph. He'd found what he was looking for-Ray's magnetic card. Was there ever a more absentminded professor than Dr. Ray Palmer? Brian wondered gleefully. Hurrying over to the bio-vault, he swiped the card through the magnetic reader. Within a heartbeat, he heard the inner mechanism click. The sound of escaping air accompanied the massive vault door as it swung open.

Entering the vault, Brian quickly searched through its myriad shelves. Soon, his eyes alighted on Ray's latest experiment, and with a wordless sound of victory, he made a move to it. About to grab it off the shelf, something else caught his eye.

Ray had placed a red warning label on yet another culture. Brian saw immediately that his supervisor was running some kind of DNA test. Curious, Brian leaned in closer. Was Ray experimenting with some new strain of bacteria? The Pentagon was always urging Star Labs to come up with some weapon or other. But no, Ray Palmer refused to work on any type of weapons production. Then what?

Bruce Wayne's name on one of the cultures caught his eye. The other said Richard Grayson. Brian thought back to a year ago, recalling the paternity suit his former girlfriend, Cindy, had brought against him. She'd named him as the father of her child. "Brian, Jr." she'd even called him. Brian had been ecstatic at first, but then grew suspicious and petitioned for a paternity test.

To his relief (and sadness) the test proved that he wasn't "Brian, Jr.'s" biological father. Studying the cultures growing in the petrie dishes, Brian got a sudden idea. This is even better, he thought, hurrying out of the vault. Closing and locking it securely, Brian picked up a phone and dialed.

The sleepy voice at the other end sounded annoyed. "Whachu want?"

"It's me, Brian."

"Better be good, dude. It's two in the morning."

"Look, I'm not sure, but I think I have something that could be worth some money."

"Not sure? G'bye, Loser!"

"No wait! It's about Bruce Wayne."

The voice at the other end became suddenly awake. "Go on."

"I'm not sure, but I think he may be facing a paternity suit of some kind."

The voice lost interest immediately. "Crap! That guy gets about a hundred such suits every year!"

"Does the name Richard Grayson mean anything to you?" Brian asked.

"Grayson...Grayson..." The voice muttered softly. "Yeah, Richard Grayson...the circus kid Wayne took in a few months ago."

"Well...I don't much about it, but I happen to have it on good authority that Star Labs is running a paternity test on Bruce Wayne."

"So?"

"The kid that he's the alleged father of?" Brian was enjoying himself. This was just too good to be true.

"Yeah? Go on!" The voice at the other was trying hard to sound disinterested.

"-Is none other than Richard Grayson-the circus kid you just said he took in a few months ago."

"Are you sure?" The voice was wide awake now. A reporter on the trail of a juicy story.

"What's it worth to you?" Brian asked.

"Maybe fifty bucks-"

"Screw you!" Brian said sharply. "I'll take this to The Daily Planet!"

"Okay, okay! Make it a hundred-"

"Make it a thousand, or you can kiss this tidbit good-bye!"

"A thousand! You're crazy! Where am I gonna get that kind of money?"

"That's your problem, dude," Brian said, sounding confident. "But if you don't have it by noon tomorrow, you can read about it in the Planet." He hung up, feeling much better than he had in a long time.

* * *

While Leslie was at Star Labs, Bruce worked diligently through the day running a world-wide search on the women from his past. Knowing Dicky's age-almost nine-and date of birth, he started there. He drew up a list of the young women he was dating at the time, and narrowed them down to a short list of four: Julie, Vicky, Silver, and... 

"Talia," he whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the still painful memory of their affair. After all these years it still cut like a knife. Bruce stared unseeing at the computer screen, Talia's exotic beauty gazing down at him from above.

Shaking his head, he put her determinedly out of his head. It couldn't be Talia, anyway. She'd seen to that hadn't she? He recalled the note she'd left behind with which she'd nearly destroyed him. He had wanted to go after her, but Alfred had stopped him, forced to return to the states. Otherwise...Bruce covered his eyes against the too raw wound.

God help me, I might have killed her with my bare hands. He felt the same icy fist in his gut that he'd felt that night. How could she have betrayed their love as she did? How could any woman-especially one who called you her 'Beloved'?

In the end, the only solace he'd found was his relentless mission. At times he'd felt himself spiraling out of control unable to hold back the looming darkness, a darkness from which he knew there was no return. Until one day, an unspeakable tragedy struck a small boy, a tragedy that ironically turned into a blessing in disguise for Bruce's tortured soul.

For in the months that followed, while Bruce had been forced to help the boy heal, in the process Bruce too had found solace.

And now...? he wondered. Could it be possible that Dicky was in fact his son? And if so, how did he end up with the Graysons? Studying Talia's lovely smile, he narrowed his eyes.

"Step one," he murmured. "Eliminate all the possible suspects."

* * *

Bruce read from the thick dossier: Julie Morgan-a gold digger who had filed phony rape charges against him. Bruce recalled the night. He had just graduated summa cum laude from Gotham State University after only two years and was ready to embark on his world-wide travels. He had stopped at a friend's bon voyage party, and unusual for him, had accepted a drink. Bruce didn't remember much after that, but realized upon waking that his drink had been spiked. 

Furthermore, he was in bed with a girl he had just met that night-Julie Morgan-and she was performing certain lewd acts on him that he knew her mother would probably not approve of. As "luck" would have it, her mother walked in on them at just that moment. Julie screamed that she was being raped-a claim so ludicrous as she was on top of him that Bruce actually laughed out loud. After their lawyers talked, Bruce walked away a free man, while Julie and her mother walked away with a check that made their eyes glow.

Bruce thought about their brief liaison and shrugged. Because he'd been drugged, he hadn't worn any protection and he had no idea if Julie had been on any sort of birth control. She'd never told him and he'd never thought to ask. Now? He grimaced. I'd rather tangle with Two-Face than have anything to do with that woman and her mother ever again.

Running a computer search, he finally tracked Julie Morgan down. Apparently, Bruce wasn't the only man with whom the mother/daughter bunco team had pulled their little stunt. In the ensuing years, they'd compromised a congressman, the married CEO of a high-tech company, and more recently, a wealthy international playboy.

In each case, the rape charges had been dropped for an undisclosed amount of cash. Bruce grinned ruefully. "Glad to see I'm not the only idiot who allowed himself to be victimized. Maybe it's time we close down this touching mother/daughter operation."

If there were the slightest chance that Julie was indeed Dicky's mother, then Bruce would have to do everything in his power to find some way of keeping her away from his boy. He thought of his good friend, private investigator Jason Bard. I think it may be time to give ol' Jase a call.

Reaching across the console, he found Bard's number and dialed. A few minutes later, he hung up, satisfied that the young investigator would handle Julie and her mother with little trouble.

The next dossier on file was that of Vicky Vale, a journalism major whom he'd met at a frat mixer his senior year. They had hit it off because neither was interested in the fraternity/sorority social scene, and for a few, brief months, they had indulged in an intense, whirlwind romance. However, because each was driven in his or her own way towards their chosen career, they soon parted friends.

Today, Vicky Vale was an award-winning journalist for the Gotham City Star. Through the years they'd remain friends, the spark still there. However, neither had taken the first step to resume their affair. Now, it was too late. Vicky had married a fellow newspaper reporter and at last count she was the mother of two.

Bruce thought of her lovely, wide intelligent eyes. Once, he'd been content to just sit and gaze into those eyes for hours at a time. He'd been deeply moved by the love and desire inher beautiful green eyes. More importantly, he'd seen an openness and trust glowing from within that told him Vicky was incapable of ever lying to him. No, as much as he would have liked to have it otherwise, Vicky couldn't be Dicky's mother. She would never have kept a pregnancy, much less the birth of his own child from him.

He turned to the third dossier, that of Silver St. Cloud. Bruce took a moment to recall the stunning fashion designer whose cool, outward elegance was belied by a strong, inner zeal that communicated itself in their passionate lovemaking. The weeks that Bruce spent with her were a mixed hotbed of physical intimacy and fiery arguments.

About the time Bruce felt her passion begin to cool, he saw her make eye contact with another male student across a crowded room. It was over before Silver walked out the door with her new love interest. Bruce wished the poor guy well, surprisingly relieved that Silver had been taken off his hands.

Thoughtful, Bruce sat back, scrolling through a list containing several more names. There had been many other women, of course. After his break-up with Silver, Bruce had settled his personal accounts in Gotham City and had set off on a world-wide tour. Ostensibly, he was a playboy on an extended vacation. In truth, he'd been a warrior acolyte on a quest. He'd scoured the far ends of the earth in search of old and new forms of hand-to-hand combat.

He'd studied under several different masters, each an expert in a particular field of interest. However, Bruce had not been exactly monastic. He'd had the opportunity to meet many different women from all the corners of the globe. Most were faceless, long-forgotten memories-any of whom could be the mother of his child.

Most, that is, except for one-Talia...

End of Part 3


	4. Chapter 4

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star 

By Syl Francis

Chapter Four

* * *

Talia...Her name evoked memories of the hot, dry sands of the sub-Saharan desert. Yet, oddly enough, they'd met in Paris at the Louvre. He'd been studying the Mona Lisa, charmed by her mysterious smile, wondering what she was thinking. Engrossed in the painting, he hadn't been paying attention to those around him and accidentally bumped into another museum patron. 

At the startled cry, he turned quickly, catching a young woman before she fell over completely. Righting her, Bruce was stunned almost into speechlessness by her exotic beauty.

"I beg your pardon" he stammered. "I'm sorry, I should've been more careful."

The girl smiled, taking his breath away. She shook her head in amusement and spoke softly. "It is quite all right" she said, adding"the Mona Lisa can have that effect on people." Her eyes lighting in excitement, she went on"Isn't she simply exquisite?"

"Yes...exquisite" Bruce murmured, never taking his eyes off the exotic young woman standing next to him.

"How do you suppose DaVinci ever managed to achieve such a wondrous effect?"

"I don't know. But I'll be glad to discuss it further over dinner with you tonight."

She turned a surprised look on him. "Dinner? But you don't even know me. What if I'm a criminal out to take advantage of innocent tourists?"

Bruce smiled. "Oh, but I assure you that I'm not all that innocent."

The girl had the grace to blush at his innuendo. Looking away momentarily, she gathered her nerve before turning back to him. Smiling slyly, she asked"What if I'm married?"

Bruce shook his head. "I refuse to accept that Fate would ever play such a cruel joke on me." Taking her by the arm, he began steering her towards the nearest exit. "Mademoiselle, I know of a little, out-of-the-way place where the ambiance is excellent and the food unparalleled."

"This is Paris, Monsieur. I'm afraid that that describes just about every restaurant in the city."

"Well, who said anything about the city?"

* * *

Bruce thought back over that first encounter. He'd driven her to an estate in the Ile de France countryside, about two hours drive outside of Paris. He had leased the place for the summer, using it as his European headquarters while he toured the continent. 

In fact, he had only recently returned the previous night from an excursion to the south of France where he'd spent several weeks studying under the last of the Knights Templar at Rennes Le Chateau, believed the legendary final resting place of the Holy Grail.

While there he'd learned much about DaVinci and the mysterious codes and ciphers that he had hidden within his many works. He had also learned about several more mysteries surrounding the Grail legend, as well as, the final betrayal of the Templars.

Bruce proved himself worthy and was taken into the Templars' confidence and made privy to the secret chamber that held The Chalice. The skeptic in Bruce refused to believe that the artifact he'd seen was the actual Holy Grail, but the warrior within him felt it necessary to swear an oath to protect it all costs.

On his return to the country estate outside of Paris, Bruce had driven Alfred to distraction until at last the much put upon loyal valet had suggested-no, insisted-that Bruce drive into the city and visit the many interesting sites.

"This mausoleum to which you dragged me across the Atlantic to live in has sixty-eight rooms, not counting closets, basements or attics. I have been cleaning and dusting for two solid weeks now and have exactly ten more rooms to go. If I am to finish prior to your dragging me to yet another primitive corner of the world, I will need the better part of the day in order to have it accomplished. Now, go and have a good time, Master Bruce."

Bruce had debated going to Versailles first, but instead opted for the Louvre. A cursed bit of fate as it turned out...

Sitting over after-dinner coffee, the two young people discussed nonessentials: the weather, Paris, and whether the Gotham Knights would win their first championship title in thirty years. He discovered that Talia liked chocolate cake, white wine, and red roses. She informed him that she was a student at the Sorbonne, studying art and art history. She was also a member of a student environmental group.

"My father's influence, I'm afraid," she admitted with a smile. "He has a passion for saving the environment against its continued destruction in the name of 'progress'." She gave an embarrassed shrug.

"I can't say that I can disagree with such a philosophy" Bruce said. "I'm proud to say that Wayne Enterprises is a leader in safe, environmental practices in all of its facilities."

"I am glad to hear that, Bruce. It is not often that I meet a man with whom Father would find approval." At her words, Talia paused and gave him an appraising look. "Forgive me...I seem to have talked your ear off, and you have yet to tell me much about yourself."

Bruce gave her an enigmatic half-smile. "There really isn't much to tell. I'm an indolent rich playboy on a world tour." Talia's answer was look of outright disbelief.

"Somehow, Bruce Wayne, I do not believe any such thing about you. No...I see deep waters within you. Your soul is not at peace. Far from it. You are searching..." She shook her head. "For what, I am not sure. But your search takes you around the world."

Bruce felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. How could she read him so accurately after only a few hours' conversation? Was he that obvious? No, he knew that not to be so.

"I do know one thing, though. You are an enigma, one whose solution I would like to help answer."

Covering his discomfiture, Bruce gave an uncharacteristic laugh. "Who, me? An enigma? My dear girl, I'm an open book." Then before her eyes, he seemed to change into a shallow, simpering fool-the shallow, rich playboy.

Talia sat back, a cool expression on her lovely features. "You are very much like my father, Bruce. Known to only a few, understood by even less. You are no more a member of the idle rich than he is. Both of you are strong men with unwavering beliefs. My father believes that mankind is destroying this world with his unrelenting pollution and shortsightedness. You...what do you believe in Bruce? What drives you to leave your home and embark on this mysterious quest"

Bruce instantly dropped the phony act and gave her an openly appraising look. How could she read him so easily? He hadn't said more than few words about himself, and yet she knew him, almost as well as he knew himself. His natural defenses kicked in. Could she have been stalking him? Was their 'accidental' meeting not quite so accidental after all?

"I'm not sure what you're talking about" he replied. Their eyes locked. What did he see in them? Intelligence, desire...love? No, surely not love...not after only one dinner and an evening's conversation. And yet, there it was, open and honest. An instantaneous understanding passed between them.

Talia stood and held her hand out to him. Bruce took it in his. The next moment she was in his arms.

That first night together was one of wild passion, each exploring the other, delighting in each discovery, taking and giving in turn, eventually falling asleep in each other's arms. As the morning approached, Bruce woke and lay next to her, studying her perfect features. He felt his desire grow, but held back not wanting to disturb her peaceful slumber.

Sensing him, Talia awoke. Smiling, she stretched out her arms and he willingly took her in his. This time, in the light of the breaking dawn, their lovemaking was softer, more gentle. He gave of himself with a need he had never experienced before. He smiled joyfully as she gasped in pleasure, then felt his own senses explode in delight when she gave back as much as she received.

By midmorning, the young lovers were completely spent. A quiet knock on the door, followed by a discreet throat being cleared, announced Alfred. "Sir...Madam...a light brunch will be served on the veranda in fifteen minutes."

Not taking his eyes off Talia, Bruce called over his shoulder"Thanks, Alfred. We'll be ready." Nuzzling her neck, he murmured"Are you hungry"

Smiling, she kissed him playfully on the nose. "I'm not sure. Now that I've had my fill of dessert, I may not have any room left for the main course." It was Bruce's turn to blush.

* * *

Batman sat back, slumped in his chair. Try as he might to put the days that followed out of his mind, he was haunted by Talia's face, her scent, her touch. They remained as vibrant today as they had been that fateful summer so long ago. Giving himself a sharp headshake, he stood suddenly and strode towards the Batmobile. It was after midnight. Time to go. 

Nothing like a good night of punching out the lowest scum of Gotham City to clear his head. However, Talia's almond-shaped eyes haunted him as he exited the cave's hidden entrance. Annoyed with himself, he punched the Batmobile's afterburners, forcing him to concentrate on the dangerous hairpin turns that ran along the outer reaches of the Gotham hillsides.

Tires screeching, he expertly handled the vehicle's powerful engines, waiting until the last possible instant to take the sharp turns. Determinedly putting Talia out his mind, he was then assaulted by snapshots of Dicky's wide, innocent smile. Knowing the boy's tragic history and his long, painful road to recovery, Batman's grip tightened around the steering wheel. He thought of Child Protective Services and its almost bureaucratic jihad against his guardianship.

Then his mind went back to the mind-boggling results of the DNA tests he had run. Meant only as a visual lesson to demonstrate to Dick how this exciting new field in criminology would assist in positively identifying perpetrators, the unexpected results-if proven true-were about to turn their lives topsy-turvy.

Dicky's wide-eyed smile appeared before him. At the same time, his love for the boy fairly burst within him, completely overwhelming his senses. As a result, Batman's foot began easing off on the accelerator. His grip softened on the wheel, and for the first time since that fateful night when his parents were murdered before him, Batman felt at peace.

My son...mine.

Abruptly, his grip tightened once more, and he again floored the vehicle's engines.

And nobody's taking him away from me.

No sooner had this thought overtaken him, than Batman crossed into the city limits. At that moment, he picked up an all points bulletin of a robbery in progress. Instantly, all thoughts of Dicky or Talia disappeared from his mind.

He narrowed his eyes. It looked like the local mooks suffered from severe learning disabilities. They were having great trouble in grasping the simplest concept: Attempting to heist a bank in his city was a bad idea!

Punching the bank's coordinates into his on-board navigational computer, Batman spun the wheel 90 degrees and roared off in the new direction. He came to a screeching halt approximately two blocks from the bank, and activating the vehicle's security system, he shot off a grapnel and flew up towards the nearest roof.

Gliding silently across the rooftops, Batman's movements became an extension of the night, a mere whisper of wind. Almost as soon as he landed on the bank's roof, he spotted and neutralized the first lookout. Within the space of a few heartbeats, he succeeded in taking out the rest-four in all.

Where do they get these third-rate mooks?

Batman quickly bound their wrists and ankles with plastic tie-wraps, and then gagged them for good measure. Hearing fast-approaching sirens, he decided that a direct tactic was probably best. He found the roof access that the bank robbers had used to break in.

A cursory inspection revealed a service ladder that led down to a maintenance closet.

* * *

Dicky tossed and turned that night, his dreams disturbed. He saw himself walking towards the jeweled sword that was jutting out of the very bedrock of England. He felt the sword call to him, a siren song filled with endless promise and hope. Dicky responded in kind, drawn to it as a moth to a flame. 

He reached for it, grasped the hilt firmly with both hands, and pulled! The sword slid out of its rocky sheath as easily as a knife through butter. Holding the sword high over his head, he stood as the crowds cheered"Long live the King...!"

...The scene changed again.

He rode astride an armored war steed, leading a charge against an advancing army. Even from half a league, he could see that there was something 'not right' about their foe. The enemy soldiers moved with jerky, inanimate movements, almost as if they were little more than marionettes, which indeed they were. The sorcerer's apprentice Mordred and his sorceress mother Morgana had raised an army of the dead, an abomination of all that was Holy.

Holding up his sword, the king pulled up on the reins, bringing his horse to a full and sudden stop. His followers immediately halted on his signal. He sheathed Excalibur and reached inside his tunic. He took out a simple, wooden cup, little more than a rough, hand-hewn drinking bowl.

Kneeing his horse, he walked him up to his father confessor and held out the cup for a blessing. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Merlyn giving an approving nod. The priest reverently laid his hands on the simple vessel, offered a simple blessing, and then took a vial containing holy water and poured a small amount into the cup.

The king bowed his head in prayer and crossed himself, and with a quiet word to his army to stand back, he continued alone. Lancelot called out to him,"My liege!" He made a move to stop his king, but Galahad held him back.

For the moment, Dicky's vantage point changed to that of Galahad.

The purest knight of the Round Table knew in his heart that this was His Majesty's burden, his reason for existence. Although Galahad and his father, Lancelot, had sworn an oath to protect Arthur and defend England, they had to sit back and let their king ride on alone, possibly to his death.

This was at should be, as it was written: Only the wielder of Excalibur could hope to defeat England's greatest foes and destroy the evil they had wrought upon the land. Therefore, Galahad and his fellow knights watched stoically as their king rode on.

Abruptly, Dicky's perspective changed again to that of Arthur. He felt doubt eating away at the king's heart, an almost overwhelming desire to turn his steed around and bolt into the hills. However, in the space of a heartbeat, these doubts were firmly cast aside as unworthy of a king. He gently fingered the cup in his hands and instantly felt a warmth suffuse through his very being.

"The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want...Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me..." When he could see the black, lifeless holes that passed for the creatures' eyes, he stopped.

Dreaming, Dicky felt a sudden chill course through his veins as Morgana's icy gaze fell on him. Her ageless beauty held a smile of triumph that reminded him of a cobra about to strike. She wore gold, lightweight battle armor, reportedly forged by demons in the fires of Hell. A golden, winged helmet that glittered in the afternoon sun covered her long, raven tresses.

Mordred glared at his adversary from underneath beetle brows. The campaign leading to this battle had been hard-fought. But by day's end, he would finally savor victory over his hated enemy. His private gloating abruptly turned to rage as the one who had thwarted him time and again, in this and other lives, gazed calmly upon his hordes. At that instant, Mordred's eyes caught sight of the cup and widened in fear. He shouted a warning to his mother whose triumphant expression instantly changed to one of abject hatred.

"Attack" she ordered. As one, her legions charged.

"Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me...My cup runneth over..." Standing on his stirrups, the king deliberately drew back and threw! In seemingly slow motion, The Chalice and its contents tumbled end over end, high above the battlefield and rained down on the onrushing waves!

* * *

Batman clung to the shadows, his movements swift and fluid. He arrived unannounced in the bank's main lobby. On the floor to his left, something metallic winked, reflecting off the dim security light. He saw that the metallic 'something' was a badge pinned to the chest of one of the security guards. 

Eyes narrowing, Batman studied the situation, noting that the guards were huddled together in the center of the marble floor, not moving. Dead. Scanning the area, he spotted three exit signs. One led towards the bank's main entrance, the other two were emergency exits. In addition, there were two additional entranceways leading towards inner offices. One led to the bank's vaults.

A sudden movement in the shadows caught his eye. He reached up and touched a special spot on his cowl. Instantly, the darkened interior of the bank took on a strange, otherworldly greenish color. He adjusted the night sights to filter out the bank's security lighting and again scanned the area. There! Almost underneath the emergency exit signs-two armed men.

Batman acquired and prepared two batarangs. Almost as one, he threw them, and the non-lethal weapons found their targets. Soundlessly, the armed guards crumpled to the floor. After scanning the area for more signs of movement, Batman quickly moved towards the security guards. What he saw gave him pause.

The dead men's mouths were gaping in a kind of horrific rictus of laughter. It appeared as if the men had died laughing. What could have caused such a reaction, Batman wondered.

A sudden sound startled him, a nightmarish laugh that sent a chill down his spine. The grating laugh reminded him of nails on chalkboard. Or of someone walking on my grave, he added silently. A bright flash-bang went off on his right actually catching him off-guard. Instantly, he exploded into action, diving behind the tellers' counter.

The same laughter echoed behind him. "My, my, my..." a taunting voice called. "And here I was told that you didn't run away from trouble. I should've known that was a mere Urban Legend." For some reason the words struck him as hysterically funny, because the disembodied voice again broke into uncontrollable laughter. "Get it, my helpless minions? Urban Legend!" He laughed again. When no one else joined, he added with deadly venom. "What? No accompanying laughter? You know how much I hate to laugh alone..."

"No, no, Boss" another voice suddenly pleaded, frightened. "That was really funny, boss! Ha-ha-ha! See!"

"That was pathetic, Smiley!" the first voice countered. "I think your funny bone needs a little help"

"No! No, Boss" Batman heard a slight hissing sound, followed by 'Smiley' screaming in agony. The next instant his screams were replaced by bone-chilling, maniacal laughter that quickly increased in volume and intensity. Then, almost as soon as it had begun, the laughter stopped.

"Now wasn't that touching?" the first voice asked. "His mother should be happy to know that her son died laughing." His words sent him into another fit of helpless laughter. After a few moments, he managed to get himself under control. "Heh-heh-heh...Sorry, boys. Sometimes I just crack myself up." When no one answered him, he paused. "Boys? Minions? Where?"

Unknown to the strange madman, while he had been laughing, Batman had not been sitting by idly. He had managed to sneak behind the madman's henchmen and taken them out.

Almost as an afterthought, the Dark Knight threw a specialized batarang that shot out a black filigree cable. Immediately, it started winding itself around the would-be bank robber, effectively binding him.

"Hey! What is this thing? What are you doing? No fair! You're not playing fair!" he whined.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that life isn't fair?" Batman asked. He studied the nightmarish clown face. Chilled, the Dark Knight realized that it wasn't make-up. "The Joker, I presume?"

The Joker's expression revealed a conflicting set of emotions. He was obviously delighted in being recognized, but at the same time looked upset that his initial crime wave had been halted before it had had a chance to get started. Finally, he gave Batman a taunting look.

"I must confess that is indeed true, Caped Crusader," he said modestly. "But I just wanted to introduce myself." Facing Batman fully, he gave a brief shrug. Unexpectedly, a hissing stream shot out from a garish, oversized flower on his lapel.

The hissing sound, which had triggered the hapless Smiley's demise, alerted the Dark Knight. Letting instinct take over, he leaped high and somersaulted backwards in midair. The spot where he had just been standing melted as the acid from The Joker's flower struck it.

His movements a blur, Batman took out another batarang and threw it while still airborne. Landing on his feet, he saw the weapon fly straight towards The Joker's lapel. Its razor-sharp edge neatly sliced off the oversized flower.

"You ruined it!" The Joker protested petulantly. "It was my favorite. Just you wait! Next time!"

"There won't be a next time." Not waiting for a reply, Batman spun on his heel and disappeared into the shadows.

As if on cue, the police entered, guns drawn. They found The Joker and his henchmen bound neatly, ready for transport to the station. The Joker ignored the officers, humming softly to himself. As he was about to be led away, he paused and surveyed the shadows.

"Oh, but there will be a next time, my dear Dark Knight." As the officers started dragging him towards the waiting squad car, he smiled suddenly. "I can't remember the last time I had this much fun."

End of Part Four


	5. Chapter 5

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Five

* * *

Alfred worriedly studied his youngest charge. The dark circles under the boy's eyes told Alfred that Dicky had not slept well the previous night. Fixing himself a cup of tea, Alfred used it as an excuse to sit down for a moment across the table from Dicky.

"More nightmares, Master Richard?"

Keeping his eyes on his plate, Dicky shrugged. Alfred noted that the boy had barely touched his pancakes-his favorite. Reaching across the table, Alfred gently placed his finger under Dicky's chin and raised his head. He repeated his question. "Nightmares, young man?"

Dicky nodded.

"Care to talk about it?"

Dicky shook his head, then shrugged, nodded, then shrugged again. "I can't remember," he said.

"I see." Alfred studied the boy's pinched face. "Is there anything else you'd care to discuss?" Dicky looked up quickly, eyes flashing his indecision. Just as suddenly he dropped them back down to his plate. Alfred realized that the boy obviously wanted to confide in him, but was uncertain if he should. "You know that Master Bruce and I are always ready to listen, Master Richard. We want you to feel that there is nothing you cannot discuss with us."

Dicky raised his all too serious face and held Alfred's eyes with his own. Alfred's heart fairly melted at the deep sadness he saw revealed in the boy's clear blue eyes. "I don't want to leave, Alfred. I like it here. I love-I mean...I really like you and Bruce-"

Alfred placed his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I know exactly what you mean, Master Richard. You see...I love you, too. And Master Bruce-" Before Alfred could finish, Dicky was in arms.

"I love you, too, Alfred!" he sobbed. "And Bruce! I don't ever want to leave."

"We don't want to lose you, either," Alfred said softly. "You are a part of us, now. We could no more live without you than if they cut our hearts out."

His face buried in Alfred's shoulder, Dicky managed to say, "I wish Bruce was my real father." Stunned at the revelation, Alfred couldn't think of anything to say, so he just held the boy to him. Eventually, Dicky got himself under control and still sitting on Alfred's lap looked up into his gentle eyes. "Do you think it's bad of me to wish that, Alfred? Do you think my mom and dad would be mad at me for saying it?"

"My dearest boy," Alfred said with a sad smile. "Of course it's not wrong of you to wish such a thing. And I know that your parents would understand. They wouldn't want to see you unhappy. You love Master Bruce and he loves you. It's only natural that you would wish to be with him. And Master Bruce wants you, too. I promise you that he will do everything in his power to keep you with us."

"And you can take that promise to the bank, Dick." At his guardian's unexpected appearance, Dicky instantly ran to him, flinging his arms around Bruce's waist. "Hey, now? What is all this?" Bruce asked, looking from Dicky to Alfred who was surreptitiously wiping a tear from his eye. "It's Sunday morning-last day of the weekend! And if I remember...we have tickets to the Gotham Knights' game later this afternoon. I would've expected a couple of bright, sunny smiles, not these gray skies and gloomy clouds." Giving Dicky a half-smile, he added, "I thought that was **_my_** department."

"I'm sorry, Master Bruce," Alfred said quietly, his face turned determinedly away. He walked to the counter and quickly began preparing breakfast for his employer. "It's just that Master Richard had a bit of trouble sleeping last night, and we-er-were discussing it."

"I see," Bruce said. Steering Dicky to the table, he pulled out a chair and sat down, pulling his ward onto his lap. "Hey, partner," he said softly, "what if I told you that I'm working really hard so that no one will ever be able to take you away from me again?"

Dicky sniffed. Blinking teary eyes at Bruce, he gazed solemnly at his guardian. "I know you'll do your best, Bruce. But Dr. Cunningham doesn't like you. She says that she only wants what's best for me. But I think that she just doesn't want us to be happy, ever."

Bruce sighed, resting his chin on the boy's dark head. "You could be right, chum. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to fight her every step of the way." He paused, wondering if he should say anything further. Thinking about his promise to Leslie that he would not reveal the preliminary DNA results until he had received confirmation of their accuracy, he decided the hell with it. Getting his boy to smile seemed like a much more important task at the moment.

However, before Bruce could say anything more, Dicky climbed off his lap and stood up on his own two feet. Holding his chin up, he added, "You don't have to worry about me, Bruce. I'm a big boy now. I'm almost nine, remember?" At Bruce's nod, he added,"I can take care of myself. Whatever happens, I don't want you to worry about me." With that, the boy walked determinedly back to his place at the table, picked up his knife and fork and attacked his pancakes.

Bruce felt his chest swell with pride at the boy's outer show of courage. My son, he thought. Mine...

And even if Dicky were not his son by blood, Dicky was his son in every sense of the word. I promise you, son...No one will ever take you from me. No one!

* * *

"Ray, you're sure? Absolutely sure?" Leslie spoke breathlessly into the phone. Her head spinning, she glanced at her kitchen clock. She had over-slept and was rushing through a 'breakfast' of dry toast and tea. Today was her Sunday to give the First Reading at Our Lady of the Immaculate Conception. "You know that there can be no room left for doubt, not even a-"

"Leslie, I know" Ray interrupted. "Believe me, I'm well aware of the importance of these findings." He paused. "Good heavens! I still can't believe this! I mean, the mathematical odds against this happening" He stopped, taking a deep breath. "Do you want me to tell him, Leslie?"

Only half-listening, Leslie started, realizing that Ray had had to repeat the same question at least three times. Laughing suddenly, she shook her head as she answered. "Not on your life, Ray Palmer! If anyone is going to pass on these wonderful news to my favorite men, it's going to be me!"

Feeling her heart fairly bursting in her chest, Leslie grabbed her coat as she hurried to the door. "I'm on my way to church, right now. Bruce, Alfred and Dicky should be there already." She smiled again. Today, her 'family' had so much more to give thanks for. "Ray, you've been wonderful! I can't thank you enough." She paused. "And I know that Bruce will be terribly grateful for your help."

Ray felt a surge of emotion as he struggled for words. Finally, he managed to choke out, "You tell Bruce for me that he owes me big time. Oh, and remind him that I expect my operating budget to be appropriately compensated."

Leslie laughed. "Ray, I think that your operating budget is about to become the envy of every scientist on the East Coast!"

* * *

As soon as his boss stepped out of the lab, Brian crept out of the storage closet where he had been listening. He had heard every word between Ray and Leslie. Smiling avariciously, he hurried to find a phone where he could speak undisturbed. His price had just gone up.

As Mass let out, Leslie hurried over to 'her' men. Her expression radiant, she greeted each with an affectionate kiss on the cheek. At Bruce's questioning look, she nodded eagerly. "The answer is an unequivocal 'yes'!" At her words, Bruce in an uncharacteristic display of public affection grabbed her by the waist and swung her in the air.

Alfred and Dicky watched in mute silence, stunned by their antics. Seeing their shocked expressions, both Leslie and Bruce burst into laughter. Putting her down, Bruce reached for Dicky and impulsively picked him up. Giggling in delight, Dicky cried,"Bruce, what is it? What happened?"

Putting Dicky down, Bruce lowered himself until he was at eye level with his son. "Only the best news in the whole world, Dicky." Dicky's eyes widened.

"You mean, that I can stay with you?"

Smiling, Bruce hugged Dicky to him. "Even better than that, son. Even better than that." Then, as if noticing the strange stares of the other members of the congregation, Bruce stood up suddenly. His hand on Dicky's shoulder, he steered him towards the car. "Let's go, son. I'll explain everything at home."

* * *

As luck would have it, no sooner had they entered the manor than the phone began to ring. "I'll get that, sir," Alfred said and headed towards the kitchen to answer it.

Dicky ran on towards his room, taking the stairs two at a time. He was anxious to change into something less constricting than his Sunday best. He was excited about the Gotham Knights' game that he and Bruce would be attending later that afternoon. Hurrying into his room, he began to change. As he did, he started to wonder what Bruce had meant when he said that he had something even better than Dicky being able to stay at Wayne Manor.

"What could be better than that?" he wondered. Shrugging, he quickly changed into his jeans and Gotham Knights sweatshirt. Stepping into his sneakers, he rushed out of his room. He thought that he had smelled the aroma of freshly baked peanut cookies coming from the kitchen.

* * *

While Dicky had run upstairs, Bruce and Leslie had gone into the study to talk privately.

"Ray called me shortly before I left for church," Leslie began. "He told me that he hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd returned to Star Labs early this morning. As soon as the cultures were ready, he ran them through several times to ensure that he'd hadn't made any mistakes."

Leslie walked up to Bruce and gently laid her hand on his arm. "Bruce, you were right. There can be no doubt about it. Dicky is your son."

"If that is the case, Master Bruce," Alfred said from the door to the study, "then you won't be surprised by what the Gotham News Network is reporting at the moment." Not waiting for a response, the dignified Englishman reached for the television remote and turned on the TV. To both Bruce and Leslie's dismay, Jack Ryder, the GNN News anchor, was announcing the latest 'Breaking News.'

"The Gotham Gazzette 'Whispers' column is reporting that Bruce Wayne, Gotham City billionaire businessman and philanthropist, has petitioned the Family Court to be allowed to adopt Richard J. Grayson, the orphaned son of John and Mary Grayson, the circus performers that were killed less than a year ago."

The camera cut to Ryder's beautiful co-anchor, Summer Gleason, who picked up his cue. "Yes, Jack, 'Whispers' goes on to say Wayne's action is in answer to a petition filed earlier this week by Director of Child Protective Services, Dr. Carolyn Cunningham, to have the Grayson boy removed from Wayne's custody and placed in a more traditional home."

The camera went back to Ryder who gazed directly into it. "In a taped interview this morning, Dr. Cunningham defended C.P.S.'s action in the child custody battle..."

The camera panned to a blank screen. Momentarily, the screen became activated, showing a still shot of a middle-aged woman sitting behind a desk, piled high with file folders. A legend at the bottom of the screen identified her as 'Dr. Cunningham, Dir. CPS.' The next instant, the video tape began rolling.

"Dr. Cunningham, why would C.P.S. wish to remove Richard Grayson from the custody of Bruce Wayne?" Ryder asked. "Surely the boy couldn't be better provided for than by Mr. Wayne, one of the wealthiest men in the world?"

Cunningham smiled stiffly into the camera. "Jack, if monetary concerns were all we considered as far as a child's well-being, well, then we'd place very few of our children in suitable homes."

"But, we're not talking about just anyone, Dr. Cunningham. Bruce Wayne-"

"-Is a bachelor, Jack. And in the time that he has had custody of young Richard, Mr. Wayne has made no move to acquire a wife and mother for-" She stopped. "What I'm trying to say is that in almost a year's time, Mr. Wayne has made no attempt to provide Richard with the traditional, stable home environment that all children deserve."

"Would you agree, Dr. Cunningham, that with the number of women that Mr. Wayne has been reportedly seen, he has done just the opposite of providing Richard with a stable home?" Cunningham hesitated before shaking her head.

"I'm afraid that I can't comment on that-" she began, but Ryder hurriedly interrupted.

"Is it C.P.S.'s contention that Bruce Wayne is unfit to continue as Richard's guardian?"

"No, I never said any such thing. I am merely saying that C.P.S. has always considered Mr. Wayne's guardianship as a temporary measure until we were able to find a more suitable home, one with both a mother and a father."

"And have you found such a home?" Ryder asked.

"Yes, I believe we have."

"I see..." Ryder paused, then continued almost gently. "Dr. Cunningham, what would you say if I told you that I have it on very good authority that Bruce Wayne will probably win his petition?"

"I'd say that you probably don't know what you're talking about!" Cunningham snapped.

"Then, what would you say if I were to tell you that Bruce Wayne is planning to file a petition to establish his paternity of Richard? What if I were to tell you that Bruce Wayne is petitioning the court for full parental rights because he claims to be Richard Grayson's biological father?"

Leslie gasped and Bruce swore under his breath at Ryder's announcement; however, their reactions were mild compared to Cunningham's reply. When she was able to get herself under control, the director of C.P.S. spoke through clenched teeth.

"That, Jack, is the most preposterous statement that I've ever heard. If Bruce Wayne is claiming that he's the boy's biological father, then it proves beyond a doubt that he is indeed unfit!" She stood suddenly. "This interview is over."

The camera cut back to Ryder behind his anchor desk.

"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. This interview was taped less than hour ago at the offices of Child Protective Services."

Smiling obliquely into the camera, Summer interjected. "It appears that Dr. Cunningham wasn't very happy about Bruce Wayne's possible paternity claim." Facing her co-anchor, she asked, "But Jack, what kind of proof could Bruce Wayne possibly have to support such a petition?"

"That's a good question, Summer," Ryder answered smoothly. Turning to the camera, he explained, "To clarify the situation...our sources say that DNA tests conducted by Star Labs prove that Bruce Wayne is the biological father of Richard Grayson. The question that remains to be answered is 'Will these tests be sufficient proof for the Family Court judge to award Mr. Wayne full custody of-apparently-his own child?' Stay tuned for this developing story."

At Ryder's concluding statement, Alfred turned off the set. Squaring his shoulders he turned to his two friends.

"And I suppose that you were planning on informing me sometime soon of these momentous findings?" Alfred looked first at Bruce and then Leslie, his expression carefully neutral. "That was The Gotham Gazette on the phone earlier. They wish an exclusive interview with you, Master Bruce." Somehow his cool tone made his words all the more cutting.

Bruce actually shuffled his feet in embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Alfred. I should have told you, but I didn't want to raise any hopes until-"

"Stop right there, young man!" Alfred said, holding his hand up. "No 'buts'! You should have come straight to me and told me the truth. I cannot believe that you've lived with this-this **_prevarication_**-for almost a year!"

"What? No" Bruce spluttered. "No! Alfred, it's not like that all! I swear! Until yesterday, I had no idea, no reason to believe that Dicky was my son!"

Alfred stared long and hard at Bruce. He wasn't looking on him as his employer, but as the young man he had raised, the same young man in whom he had instilled a strong sense of right and wrong. And yet, wasn't Bruce Wayne also Batman, a dark hunter of the night who felt little remorse in using trickery and chicanery in achieving his goals?

Alfred shook his head. "No...I can't believe that. How is it possible that you didn't know that Richard was your son? Surely, you must have spoken to his mother at some time. You must have suspected?"

"That's just the point, Alfred!" Bruce said, running his hand through his hair in exasperation. "I don't **_know_** who his mother is! Well, I suspect...but I'm not sure-"

"Not sure?" Alfred asked. "But surely Mary Grayson-"

"-Couldn't have been Dicky's biological mother," Bruce interrupted quietly.

"What?" "But how can that be?" Alfred and Leslie spoke at the same time.

"Alfred, I never laid eyes on Mary Grayson before that terrible night. And even then, I only knew who she was from the souvenir program and when the ringmaster announced her."

"But if she's not Master Richard's mother, then who is?" Alfred demanded.

"And how did Dicky end up with the Graysons?" Leslie added.

"Don't you think that I've been racking my brains over those very questions?" Bruce snapped. He walked around his desk and sat down, staring at nothing. After a moment, he spoke quietly. "I have an idea, but it's so far-fetched that it's almost unbelievable." He fell back into a brooding silence.

"Who, Bruce?" Leslie prompted. Bruce slowly looked up. His eyes locked on Alfred.

"Talia." At Bruce's reply, Alfred nodded in dawning understanding.

"Talia," Alfred agreed softly.

End of Part Five


	6. Chapter 6

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster! Also, thanks to all you readers who sent feedback. It makes my day and keeps me writing.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star 

By Syl Francis

Chapter Six

* * *

"I don't understand, Bruce." Leslie was the first break to the silence. "Who's 'Talia' and why is the idea that she's Dicky's mother 'so far-fetched that it's almost unbelievable?'" She shook her head. "Listen to me. This whole situation is 'so far-fetched that it's almost unbelievable!'" 

She glared at both men, but more so at Bruce. "First, you take what few years I have left out of my life with this preposterous discovery that you're Dicky's biological father. Then it proves to be true-not so preposterous, after all. Now you tell us that Mary Grayson couldn't be Dicky's real mother, but then you say that the woman you believe **_might_** have been his mother **_couldn't_** have been!"

Leslie stopped and took a deep breath. "I can't make any sense out of it. Alfred?"

Alfred had been standing in his usual quasi-parade rest position while he calmly waited for the others to talk themselves out. Or as was usual for Bruce, to wait him out until he actually said something. Then, in an act that was so uncharacteristic for him that both Bruce and Leslie raised their eyebrows in surprise, Alfred walked to the nearest easy chair and collapsed into it.

"I don't know about the rest of you, but I've got a splitting headache." He rubbed his face and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. Leslie made a move towards him, but he waved her off. "Please...I've earned this moment. Don't you dare take it away by giving me any drugs that may fend off my foul mood." Opening his eyes, he glared daggers at Bruce. "This is a fine mess you've gotten us all into, young man."

"Alfred, I-"

"Your inexcusable behavior has resulted in one lost, lonely boy who has already grieved because the two people whom he loved the most in the whole world-his mother and father-were killed before his very eyes. But wait! Now, you're going to tell him that the man and woman who raised him were not his **_real_** parents. And just where do believe such a revelation will leave him?" Before Bruce could speak, Alfred answered the question himself. "I'll tell you where-it will leave him devastated, grieving over their loss all over again."

Nonplussed, Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but Alfred held up his hand to forestall him. "Don't interrupt!" he snapped. Bruce sat back, properly chastised by his usually mild-mannered butler. "What are you going to say to Master Richard when he asks you 'why'?" Alfred demanded.

"Why 'what'?" Bruce asked, uncomprehending.

Alfred's tone took on one reserved for a particularly dense child. "What will you answer, when Richard asks: Why, if you're his father don't you know who or where his mother is? Or even if she's still alive? Why, if you're his father didn't you want him?"

"It's not true! I **_did_** want him! I mean, I **_do_** want him. What I mean is: I didn't know I **_had _**a son!"

Alfred waved him to silence and continued with the relentless 'why' questions. "Why, if you're his father, did you **_allow _**him to be given away?"

"I already explained," Bruce said tiredly. "I didn't know."

"And why, if you're his father-**_why_** didn't you know? Aren't you supposed to be the 'World's Greatest Detective'?"

Bruce's earlier elation had now given way to dejection. He ran his hand through his dark hair and fidgeted under Alfred's steady gaze. Finally, the younger man nodded in shame. "I guess I really blew it, didn't I?" He thought of Dicky and how much he had grown to love him in the short time they had been together. "What have I done, Alfred? How will I ever be able to make it up to him? To make him understand how much I love him? How much I loved his mother?"

"I think you just answered your own question, Master Bruce." Alfred walked up behind Bruce and laid his hands gently on the younger man's shoulders. "It has been my experience that when it comes to children, if we tell them we love them, and more importantly, **_show_** them that we love them, then life's little rough parts tend to take care of themselves."

He squeezed Bruce's shoulders affectionately, something he had not done since before Bruce's high school graduation. "Luckily Master Richard is quite an empathetic child. He senses others' feelings around him more than most." He paused, adding gently, "He knows you love him. And I have it on quite good authority that he loves you. If you broach the subject carefully, I believe that the young Master will be open and understanding to most of what you have to say to him."

Bruce nodded. I sure hope so, he thought. I sure hope so.

* * *

Bruce found Dicky in the kitchen, happily munching on a stack of extra-large peanut butter cookies that Alfred had allowed him. Taking a careful bite, the small boy then washed it down with a swallow of milk. His mouth full, Dicky saw Bruce at the door, and his eyes lighting up, waved his cookie in greeting. Swallowing, he called out cheerily. "Hi, Bruce! Would you like a cookie? Alfred gave me too many." 

"Sure, thanks." Pulling a chair next to Dicky, Bruce asked, "What do you mean by too many cookies? Is there even such a thing?"

Dicky giggled at Bruce's droll comment. Unable to help himself, Bruce had to smile in turn. His mind racing, he studied the cookies to hide his warring emotions. Selecting a smaller one, Bruce sat back and watched his son go through the ritual of dunking, taking a careful bite, and then a swallow of milk. He felt his stomach flutter when Dicky gave him a wide, milk-mustachioed smile.

Funny, how the boy's sunny smiles and childish laughter had proven so infectious these past months. When had he forgotten how to smile, Bruce wondered. When had he forgotten the simple pleasures of peanut butter cookies and a glass of milk?

"Would you like some of my milk?" Dicky asked. He pushed his half-filled glass towards Bruce. "It tastes better if you dunk it first."

"Really?" Bruce looked serious.

"Uh-huh." Dicky nodded ingenuously. "Look...like this!" The boy painstakingly concentrated on the task at hand as he dipped his cookie into the waiting milk. "See? It's easy."

"Let me give it a try," Bruce said. He dunked his cookie for a moment, took it out, and to avoid it dripping milk on the table, quickly stuffed it into his mouth. "You're right! It does taste much better!" At least that was what he had intended to say, but with his mouth full, it sounded more like, "Mffff...moomff...mffff...moomff..."

Dicky whooped in delight at his usually reserved guardian's silliness. "You better not do that when Alfred's around," he warned between giggles. "He'll put you in timeout!"

Seeing an image of himself standing in the corner in full Batman suit, Bruce gave a small chuckle. "I bet he would too." When Dicky finished his snack, Bruce helped him clear the dirty dishes. Then he found the antibacterial spray cleaner and wiped down the table. Satisfied that the kitchen would pass Alfred's most discerning white glove inspection, Bruce decided it was time to plunge in.

"Dicky-"

"Is it time to go the stadium?" Dicky asked excitedly.

"Stadium?" Bruce asked, his face blank. Then he remembered-the Gotham Knights-Metropolis Meteors game. He looked at the time. The game started at 4:00pm; it was now 2:30. By the time they drove there, found a parking space, and walked from the vast parking lot to the stadium, it would be kickoff time. Better yet, it would help him put off his problem a little while longer.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Bruce demanded. "Get your jacket! Let's go!"

"Oh, boy!" Dicky cried as he raced to the hall closet. "The Knights are gonna clobber the Meteors, but good!"

"'Clobber the Meteors'?" Bruce repeated, feigning disapproval. "Where do you pick up words like that?"

"From you."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Now when have I ever used the word 'clobber'?"

"**_You_** know-" Dicky evaded.

"Why don't **_you_** tell me?" Bruce challenged. Looking around to see if they were being observed, Dicky waggled his small finger at Bruce to come closer. Bruce did as asked, bending down far enough so that Dicky could murmur in his ear.

"That time we got home way past my bedtime-remember? You said that Alfred was gonna clobber you on account of I had school the next day." Smiling, Bruce straightened and ruffled Dicky's dark head.

"Well, I was right, wasn't I?"

Dicky nodded seriously. "Uh-huh. You sure were." He paused to consider, then laughed. "I guess Alfred's **_already_** put you in timeout!"

"Oh, yeah?" Bruce laughed, reaching for him. "C'mere, Munchkin!" Laughing, Dicky managed to evade his guardian's reach and ran out the kitchen/garage exit. Chuckling to himself, Bruce took off after him.

He was beginning to enjoy being a father...

* * *

Pulling out of the Wayne Manor's extensive grounds, Bruce's SUV was suddenly set upon by an army of reporters, cameras, and news vans. Clenching his jaw Bruce drove through the crowd, narrowly missing a few bold photographers who jumped in front of his moving vehicle. I should have expected this, he thought, annoyed with himself. I should have checked the security cameras before we left. 

It was too late now.

A television reporter and his cameraman ran in tandem alongside the driver's side door. Breathlessly, the reporter stuck a mike up against the window. "Mr. Wayne! Is it true what the Gazette and GNN are reporting?"

"Bruce, what's going on?" Dicky asked nervously.

"Nothing for you to worry about, kid. Just a bunch of idiots taking their lives into their hands."

At this moment another intrepid reporter grabbed onto the door handle on Dicky's side. The vehicle's momentum dragged him along dangerously, and, at Dicky's warning cry, Bruce was forced to slow down enough to avoid running him over. However, getting killed was the farthest thing from the reporter's mind. He was too focused on getting a story. Rapping sharply on Dicky's window, he spoke rapidly.

"Richard! Richard! Do you have anything to say about?"

That did it. As far as Bruce was concerned, he was a public figure and thus a legitimate target for news outlets and their rabid-dog reporters. He may not like it, but he was forced to accept it. On the other hand, Dicky was strictly off-limits.

Bruce had insisted on it from the day that the little boy had stepped inside Wayne Manor. He had refused all requests for personal interviews after the initial news release that he had been awarded Dick's guardianship. Dick was an innocent child who had suffered enough in his life. He did not need to be paraded before a crowd of curious onlookers, nor be used as fodder for Gotham City's gossip columnists.

Honking and aggressively maneuvering the SUV, Bruce forced the reporters to move back or risk being run over. With a screech of tires, he gunned the engine and took off down the tree-lined county road, headed in the general direction of town. However, shaking off hounds that were on the scent proved more difficult than Bruce had anticipated. A check of the rearview mirror confirmed that they were being followed.

"Bruce! What do they want?" Dicky shouted. "Why are they chasing us?"

Glancing sideways at Dicky, Bruce was deeply moved by the boy's worried look. As Robin, Dicky was used to Bruce's driving at impossible speeds. But that was in the Batmobile, a highly specialized vehicle designed to handle even the most adverse driving conditions. The jeep was just a recreational, family vehicle. It wasn't equipped to handle high speed chases, nor to safely take the many hairpin turns in the county back roads.

"This is my fault, son," Bruce said grimly. "As soon as we can put some breathing space between them and us, I'll try to explain what's going on." The next instant, Bruce heard Dicky gasp as he took a ninety-degree curve much too fast and almost lost control. Realizing that he was endangering both their lives, Bruce relented and slowed down. However, he still had to shake the news hounds and decided that the best option was to go four-wheeling.

Slowing sufficiently to make a tight turn, Bruce looked for and spotted a dirt road heading into the tree-covered hillside. Turning in, Bruce immediately punched the four-wheel drive, and, obviously in the environment for which it was designed, the vehicle seemed to suddenly purr.

Bruce expertly handled the off-road vehicle, guiding it effortlessly along the deeply rutted, uneven path. After driving thus for almost three-quarters of an hour, Bruce pulled into a small clearing. Taking a deep breath, he sat back, confident that he had lost their trackers.

"Bruce?"

Bruce looked down at Dicky, feeling instantly guilty that the boy would have to miss the game.

"I'm sorry about this, Dicky. I know promised you a football game, but-"

"That's okay," Dicky mumbled with a shrug. "It's just a dumb ol' game, anyway."

"No, it's not. It was important to you." Reaching across, Bruce absentmindedly brushed back a stubborn lock of hair from Dicky's forehead. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

Dicky gazed thoughtfully at Bruce, before dropping his eyes. He spoke in a low voice. "It's because I can't live with you anymore, isn't it?" Bruce gave him a questioning look. Dicky met his eyes bravely, his demeanor showing acceptance of the inevitable. "The reporters...they were asking all those questions 'cause the judge decided I can't live with you anymore."

"No! Dicky, those reporters-" Bruce leaned in earnestly. "That's not what this is all about!"

"It isn't? Then why?"

Bruce immediately stiffened and looked away. "I-" He swallowed, unable to go on. "Dicky...the reporters-" Bruce hesitated, looking anywhere but at his son. "They-" He couldn't do it. He couldn't tell him. I'm a coward. I can face all of Gotham City's lowlifes, but I can't look an eight-year-old boy in the eyes. Staring into empty space, Bruce became aware of a small hand being slipped into his.

He looked down, mesmerized by the sight of his large hand practically engulfing Dicky's tiny one. The boy's small fingers were wrapped warmly around Bruce's larger thumb and forefinger. Slowly, Bruce's eyes traveled upwards until they met Dicky's clear blue ones.

"It's okay, Bruce. Mommy always used to say that it's better to deliver bad news fast instead of slow. If you tell me what you want to say real quick, then it won't be so bad." Bruce reached up and cupped Dicky's face in his hand.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're a pretty darn special kid?"

Dicky nodded. "Sure. Mommy and Daddy used to say it all the time." Bruce smiled, feeling himself choke up.

"Well, they were right." He gazed upon his son's innocent face a moment longer. "I guess John and Mary Grayson were probably the best mom and dad in the world." Dicky nodded. "You were very lucky that they loved you as much as they did." Dicky nodded again. "I guess a guy like me couldn't ever hope to come close to matching great parents like that-"

Dicky's arms were suddenly wound tightly around his neck. "No, Bruce! You **_are_** just like them!" he cried. "You take care of me and teach me cool stuff." He pressed his small face against Bruce's cheek, his words fierce. "After Mommy and Daddy got killed, nobody else cared about me. Only you. You didn't have to give me a home, but you did. You didn't have to let me be Robin, but you did." Dicky leaned back slightly until he was practically nose to nose with his guardian.

Bruce searched Dicky's eyes, as always overtaken by a sense of wonderment at how much it felt as if he were looking into his own-and not only because they were an identical blue to his.

The first time Bruce had looked into the grieving boy's eyes, he had been struck by the same deep sense of loss and pain that he saw in the mirror every morning. "You're wrong, son. I **_did_** have to give you a home **_and_** train you to be my partner. If I hadn't, I don't think that I could have ever lived with myself."

"I guess a guy can't be any luckier than me," Dicky sighed. "I had the best mom and dad in the whole world, **_and_** I get to be Batman's partner, _**and**-_" He stopped, dropping his eyes.

"And what?" Bruce prompted.

"I get to be your ward?" Dicky's voice was barely above a whisper. At the boy's question, Bruce hugged him tightly to him.

"Better than that, Dick," he whispered intensely. "You're my son." Instantly, Dick's head shot up, his face lighting up in excitement.

"Really? Then the judge said I could stay, Bruce? And that you could adopt me?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, son...not the judge. We haven't had the hearing yet."

"I don't understand?"

Bruce moved the driver's seat as far back as it would go, and sat Dicky on his lap. "Dicky, I have something very important to tell you," he began. Looking down on Dicky's solemn expression, Bruce almost chickened-out. Again. Annoyed with himself but unsure where to begin, he gave Dicky a helpless shrug. "Unfortunately, I just don't know where or how to start."

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Dicky asked. A genuine smile lit Bruce's usually dark features.

"Out of the mouths of babes." Taking a deep breath, Bruce began. "Almost nine years ago, I met a beautiful woman...and fell in love..."

End of Part Six


	7. Chapter 7

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster! Also, thanks to all you readers who sent feedback. It makes my day and keeps me writing.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Seven

* * *

Nine years ago...

Three weeks after first meeting Talia, Bruce believed that he was in love. She was not like any girl he had met before. And yet, she was all of them rolled into one. She had a keen intellect that matched his and a sense of humor that he found infectious. In fact, one day after she recounted a humorous story about one of her art instructors, Bruce actually laughed out loud...

Talia recalled with a chuckle how the artist had been caught by his rather shrewish wife with a nude model. To the wife's indignation, her husband had been doing much more than merely painting the model's assets onto canvas. The wife immediately set upon the model, her sharp tongue lashing out at the poor girl before throwing her out of the house only partially clothed.

To her hapless husband's dismay, she then turned her full wrath upon him, and as this was not the first time he had been guilty of such a crime, the poor man ended up locked out of the house completely naked, with only his artist's pallet to hide his shortcomings...

Bruce listened amused as Talia recounted her story, chuckling at the idea of the model being tossed out only half-dressed. However, when Talia described the artist's fate, Bruce unexpectedly burst out in a booming laugh. This so startled Alfred that the usually impossible-to-fluster butler almost dropped a tray heavily laden with the afternoon tea.

"It sounds like he certainly had it coming, poor guy," Bruce said with laugh.

Talia, delighted by Bruce's reaction, nodded vigorously. "He was what you would call a 'jerk'. Most of his female students, me included, spent the greater part of our private lessons avoiding his octopus arms." Rolling her eyes, Talia tossed her dark hair in annoyance. "The man was impossible! I admit that I almost broke his arm once when he became a bit too insistent."

"If that's so, then why did you go to him?" Bruce demanded.

"Why? Because he was simply the best at what he did," Talia said matter-of-factly. "His eye for lighting and shadow-brilliant! Having to avoid his schoolboy groping was a small price to pay for all I learned from him."

"Oh, yeah?" Bruce growled, not agreeing with her in the least. "I'd like to put my own hands around the man's neck. Let's see how he'd like **_that!_**"

"Oh, Bruce." Talia lit from inside as she looked upon his dark expression. "You are too precious for words. I believe that I shall have to paint you. Such an expression-" She mimicked his scowl and dropped her voice an octave. "-must be preserved for all posterity!"

"Oh, yeah?" With a threatening look, he slowly got up out of his chair and advanced towards her. "Well, I don't pose for free, you know. I demand payment for my services." He took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet. "What do you say to an advance?"

She gave him a sultry smile full of promise. "Well...perhaps, just a small taste."

* * *

And thus the weeks passed. Talia would say something amusing, and Bruce would find a new reason to smile or laugh. One day as they walked along the extensive grounds of the estate, a sudden storm rolled in, catching them unawares. Laughing, they ran towards the gardener's cottage and sought shelter there. As they ran, Talia stumbled upon a downed bird's nest.

"Oh, Bruce! Look!" Talia protectively cradled the nest, which held three un-hatched eggs. "The winds must have knocked it off the tree!" At this moment, a tremendous burst of lightning lit up the sky, leaving the clear smell of ozone in the air. The strike had been less than a mile away, making it much too dangerous to remain under the tree. Bruce took her arm and urged her into the cottage.

"Come on...we can't do anything about it right now!" He pointed at the sky. "The next one might be even closer!" Nodding, Talia allowed him to lead her into safety. However, as soon as they were inside, she surprised him by firmly taking charge.

"Bruce, I need you to bring in the outdoor grill," Talia ordered without explanation. "I saw it as we were approaching the cottage." Single eyebrow raised, Bruce did as told.

Meanwhile, she searched for and found a drop light and aluminum foil somewhere in the storage closet. In addition, she discovered clean towels in the linen closet, and to her delight, a half-filled carton of eggs in the refrigerator.

Bruce dragged the filthy grill, dripping water into the kitchen. "Where do you want it?" he asked.

Not looking up she replied, "Clean it first. Scrub it as much as you can. You'll find the cleaning supplies in the storage closet." Again, no reason given, just the calm assurance of someone who was used to her commands being obeyed. Shaking his head, Bruce decided to go along, at least for the moment.

Three quarters of an hour later, he thought he was finally done and said as much.

"Good!" Talia said giving the grill a cursory inspection. "Now, take the aluminum foil and line the sides and bottom. Be careful not leave any of it exposed."

"Yes, ma'am," Bruce said lightly. But Talia had already left the kitchen. A few minutes later, she returned with the rest of the supplies that she had rounded up. Finished lining the grill, Bruce stood back and watched. Talia took the towels, which were folded in quarters, and lay them on the bottom. She produced the now-empty egg carton that she had found earlier and placed it on the soft bed of towels. Next, she took the bird's nest, and gently lifting each egg, she carefully set it in one of the carton's egg compartments.

Taking the remaining roll of aluminum foil, Talia completely covered the top of the grill with several layers of foil, effectively encasing the three bird eggs inside. Finally, she took the drop light, which she had earlier replaced with a low wattage bulb, plugged it in, and turned it on. She laid it gently on the aluminum foil near the edge of the grill, and satisfied stood back.

"There! Now, we'll see what we'll see." Smiling, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed Bruce on the cheek. "Thank you for your help. You were wonderful."

"You're welcome," Bruce said blankly. "Considering I have no clue what I did."

Giving a short laugh, Talia took his arm and led him into the small living room. "I am sorry, my beloved," she said. "Sometimes I forget myself." Sitting down on the sofa, she patted the seat next to her. "It is a trait that I picked up from my father, I'm afraid. Ever since I was a child, he has taught me that all life is precious, and one should do everything in one's power to prevent a tragedy whenever possible."

"I think I like your father," Bruce said. "But what's with the grill"

"A homemade incubator," Talia explained. "While my people do not suffer from lack of modern conveniences, sometimes we must make do with what materials are available. My father taught me many years ago to be-how do you say it-self-sufficient."

"A wise move on your father's part," Bruce said.

"Yes," Talia said, her eyes faraway. "My home is in the desert, which can be very a unforgiving mistress. It is so easy even for one born there to become victim to her many dangers. Therefore, from an early age, my father saw to it that I was trained to survive even under the harshest conditions. In addition, I was trained not just in first aid, but in my people's herbal arts."

"To include constructing homemade incubators-just in case?" Bruce concluded.

"Yes...to include constructing homemade incubators-just in case," Talia repeated. Smiling, Bruce settled comfortably next to her on the sofa, enjoying her close proximity, breathing in her subtle scent. They sat thus through the afternoon until the storm abated.

When the sun finally re-emerged, Talia gently removed the bird's eggs from the homemade incubator and returned them to their small nest. Before long, they had replaced it in its former spot on the tree.

"Tomorrow we shall check to see if the mama bird will accept her eggs back. Until then, all we can do is wait and hope."

"What if she refuses to accept them?" Bruce asked worriedly.

"Sadly, there is always that possibility," Talia sighed. "A mother will sometimes reject her little ones for different reasons-fear, self-preservation, love.-"

"Love?" Bruce scoffed. "Love is a human emotion, and birds exist purely on instinct." Talia patted his arm in surrender.

"You are right, of course," she said with a smile. "Come, let us head home before Alfred starts to worry over our absence."

* * *

As the days passed, Bruce knew that Talia was the one. He thought she felt the same way, but what man ever really knew what was in a woman's heart? Is this how his father had felt when he'd met Bruce's mother? Is this how all men felt when they met the woman they wanted to spend eternity with? Not one to wallow in self-doubt, Bruce finally took matters into his own hands, and did what any normal, red-blooded young man in love would do, he asked Alfred for his help...

Bruce looked up as Talia stepped out onto the veranda, her exuberance in the new day infectious. "I never cease to be enthralled by the magnificent view from here! The desert has her own unique, wild beauty, untouched by the hand of man, but this-" Her arm swept dramatically, taking in the verdant hillside vineyards, the small cottages dotting the Ile-de France countryside, and the clear blue skies. "-this loveliness, a seamless marriage of nature and man, it too has a mystique all its own." She sighed. "I would love to put it on canvas, but I fear that my meager skills would fall far short of the task."

"Nonsense!" Bruce said, suddenly next to her. "I'll have Alfred order some art supplies from town first thing today. We can set you up here where you can work undisturbed."

"You are much too generous, my darling," Talia said with a smile. "I am afraid that I am taking advantage of your hospitality." She shook her head as if reaching a decision. "No! Already I have overstayed my welcome. I should be returning to my apartment as soon as-"

Bruce stopped her with a long, lingering kiss. "Does that feel like you've overstayed your welcome?" he asked huskily. Looking weak-kneed, Talia shook head. "I don't want to hear any more talk of you leaving," he said. "Unless, of course," he added teasingly, "there's something here that displeases you? The cuisine? Alfred? Me?"

Smiling, Talia shook her head 'no'. "The cuisine is excellent, the accommodations-five stars. Alfred is a jewel. And you, my beloved, are the center of my world. How could I find anything to displease me here?" At her words about him, Bruce felt a small thrill of hope shoot through him, but managed to remain outwardly calm.

"Then if that's the case, let's eat!"

Laughing, Talia followed him to the table and waited while he graciously held her chair out for her. As usual, Alfred had set a beautiful table and prepared a delicious brunch for them. When she was settled in her seat, Talia discovered a gift box placed unobtrusively next to her silverware.

Curious about the small, rectangular box, she picked it up and examined it, noting that it was an unadorned, black jewelry case. Talia gave Bruce a questioning look, but he simply shrugged and hid behind his newspaper. "Hmmm...? No card," she said musingly. "Now who could have left this here? Bruce would you have any idea?"

"Not a clue." He deliberately rustled the paper as he spoke, feigning indifference. Talia gave him a look marked by a high degree of skepticism.

"I suppose **_Alfred _**put this here."

Bruce lowered his paper and gave her question due consideration. "You know, I wouldn't put it past him, the old rascal. He was just saying the other day how attractive he thought you were. In fact, I definitely remember him saying something like, 'If Master Bruce doesn't snatch her up, then I'll have to do it myself'!"

Talia laughed at his perfect imitation of the staid butler's accent, and reached across the table, taking a playful swipe at him.

"Ow!" Bruce protested, giving her a little boy look. "Don't hurt me." In response, Talia gave Bruce a look of exasperation, and set the gift box down. Assuming an air of utter boredom, she proceeded to eat her breakfast.

Dropping all pretense at nonchalance, Bruce pushed the gift box back towards her. Looking into her eyes, he quietly entreated, "Please, open it. Go on! **_Open_** it"

Smiling at his sense of urgency, Talia did as asked. Pushing aside the simple clasp, she gently opened the lid, and gasped as her eyes beheld an exquisite pearl necklace. "Oh, my! Oh, Bruce! It's stunning!"

Pleased by her reaction, Bruce was immediately on his feet and by her side. He took the necklace from its case, and tenderly placed it around Talia's neck. "Do you like it, then?" he asked.

"Oh, Bruce...I love it!" As Talia spoke, she gently shook her head. "But I cannot accept such an extravagant gift. My father would never approve."

"Would he approve if it were a wedding gift?" Intense blue eyes held a pair of almond-shaped brown ones. "What if I were to explain to your father that because the pearl has long been held as a symbol of eternal love, it has been a Wayne family tradition for several generations for the men-like my father and grandfather before me, and their fathers and grandfathers before them-to present their brides-to-be with a string of pearls when they propose marriage?"

"Propose marriage?" If Talia had been astounded before, she was downright flabbergasted by these two words. She swallowed before speaking carefully. "Bruce, are you asking me to marry you?" Giving her a half-smile that somehow always managed to soften his usually dark expression, Bruce went down on one knee.

"Talia, my darling...will you do me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife?" Before he finished the question, Talia's arms were already around his neck, her lips searching for and finding his.

"My beloved..." She kissed him over and over. By now, they were laughing and crying in each other's arms.

Bruce held her against him, returning her kisses with equal ardor. In between, he managed to say"I-" (kiss) "-take it-" (kiss) "-that this-" (kiss) "-is a 'Yes'?"

Talia laughed, a low throaty laugh. "We are both-" (kiss) "-quite mad!" (kiss) "But-" (kiss) "-my answer-" (kiss) "-is 'Yes'" With that, Bruce swept her up in his arms and carried her back to the master bedroom.

Smiling discreetly from inside the kitchen, Alfred nodded in approval. It appeared that the young man he had raised might not throw his life away in an obsessive pursuit of justice, after all. Instead, it seemed that Master Bruce would marry, perhaps someday become a father, and in the process make Alfred a 'grandfather.'

Looking up, Alfred gave silent thanks for that most providential of days that had brought Miss Talia into their lives. Smiling, he returned to his dusting, moving with a much lighter step as he made his rounds.

End of Part 7


	8. Chapter 8

Acknowledgement: A special thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for have the Herculean patience to beta this monster! Also, thanks to all you readers who sent feedback. It makes my day and keeps me writing.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Eight

* * *

Bruce's eyes snapped open. He lay still, all his senses alert. Lying next to him, Talia's heady scent softly caressed him. Half convinced that he had been dreaming, Bruce was about to turn to her, when he heard it again. There! A barely audible sound, no more than the faintest rustling of an autumn leaf on dry grass-except that it came from downstairs, somewhere in the study from the sound of it.

Alfred? A possible intruder or intruders?

A noise from outside caught his attention-the slightest scrape of one of the metal chairs on the veranda. At almost the same instant, he heard a familiar sound coming from inside the solarium: One of the floorboards near the French doors that led out onto the garden always creaked.

Okay. Alfred might sometimes seem to be everywhere at once, but this was ridiculous! Definitely an intruder! In fact, more than one.

And since they had somehow circumvented the estate's highly sophisticated alarm system, whoever 'they' were obviously knew what they were doing.

Moving carefully so as not to wake Talia, Bruce slipped out of bed and hurriedly slipped on his pants. He paused at the bedroom door, listening. Quiet.

"Beloved?" Talia spoke with the barest of whispers. Bruce held his forefinger to his lips. He mimed his intentions: He was going to investigate; she was to lock the door and stay put. Wide-eyed, Talia nodded.

Turning the doorknob, he slowly opened the door and peered out. A quick scan showed that the hallway was clear. Nodding to Talia and again warning her to stay put and keep the door locked, Bruce stepped out. Hugging the shadows, Bruce utilized the stealth skills that he had picked up during the last few years of intense study.

He paused at the top of the staircase, surveying the area below. Taking the stairs quickly but cautiously, he attempted to apply all the lessons that his Sensei had instilled in him during his stay in Japan. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, Bruce still had not caught sight of an intruder. Could he have imagined it? Shaking his head, he continued his alert search.

A movement out of the corner of his eye was his only warning. Letting instinct take over, Bruce ducked, avoiding being hit. Simultaneously, he spun and kicked, connecting with a satisfying crunch of bones underneath his foot. The shadowy assailant went down with a slight moan.

Unfortunately, Bruce's moment of triumph proved all too brief. Unexpectedly, the chandelier came on directly above him, effectively exposing him in its bright glare. Before he could dive for cover, a wry, disembodied voice spoke up.

"Most impressive, Mr. Wayne!" the voice said. "Grind is my personal bodyguard. As I trained him myself, there has never been anyone able to take him out before."

By then Bruce had assumed a defensive position alert to the direction of the voice. The next instant, however, the room echoed with the sounds of multiple high-powered weapons being readied for firing. Realizing he was surrounded, Bruce dropped the defensive posture and simply stood, arms crossed.

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded. "Why have you invaded my home? Show yourself...if you're not afraid of one unarmed man." At his challenge several dozen shadowy figures, moving with stealth born of countless covert missions, materialized seemingly out of thin air. As he suspected, they were all armed to the teeth and had their weapons trained on him.

Without warning, a giant of a man suddenly appeared at his side, striking Bruce a stunning blow.

"No one speaks thus to the Master!" The giant was about to strike again, but froze at Talia's unexpected appearance.

"Stop!" she commanded.

"Talia..." Bruce croaked. "Don't-"

"How **_dare_** you?" She slapped the giant with a force strong enough to make him flinch. For added measure, she kicked out with a force that Bruce would never have suspected, striking the giant's abdominal area. He staggered backwards, bent over in pain. "How dare you lay a hand on him!" As she spoke, she kicked out again, this time connecting with the large man's jaw. He managed to remain on his feet, but just barely.

Losing interest in her adversary, Talia turned away and knelt down next to Bruce. As tenderly as she had cradled the bird's nest in her hands, she lifted Bruce's head and held him in her arms. "Are you hurt, Beloved?"

"Mistress!" The giant went down on his knees, his head bowed before Talia. "If I have caused you offense, I beg you!" The lumbering giant unexpectedly unsheathed his dagger.

"Talia! Look out!" Bruce warned.

However, instead of threatening Talia with it, the giant held it, handle out, towards Talia. "-Take my dagger, Mistress, and cut my throat out even as I speak!"

"Mistress...?" Bruce mumbled. "Talia? You know?"

"Hush, Beloved," Talia crooned. "All will be explained in due time." She turned to the giant. "Ubu! Help my beloved up the stairs to the master bedroom." Confused, the giant slowly raised his massive head.

"Mistress? I am to live? But I am not worthy!"

"Ubu, stop your foolishness, before I **_do_** cut out your throat!" For a man of his monstrous size, Ubu could move very fast if given the right motivation.

"Yes, Mistress."

"And you'd **_better_** not hurt him." One look in Talia's eyes convinced Ubu that the consequences of disobeying that particular order would be dire.

However, Bruce had his own ideas about the situation. As soon as Ubu bent down to help him up, Gotham City's favorite playboy kicked up with his powerful legs and sent Ubu reeling backwards.

"Bruce! No!" Talia called. "You don't understand!" Ubu made a move to regain his feet, but Bruce kicked out again. This time he knocked the giant unconscious. Talia shook her head and sighed. "Poor Ubu...he was only trying to protect me."

"Protect you?" Bruce glared at Talia. "Then you **_do_** know him?"

Nodding, Talia explained. "Ubu has been my personal bodyguard since I was a child. He's perfectly harmless unless he thinks that I am being threatened."

Placing his hands on her shoulders none too gently, Bruce's voice took on a darkly menacing tone that Talia had not heard before. "I think it's time you explain what's going on!"

"Bravo! Bravo!" The same droll, disembodied voice called out. A tall, older man with an elegant bearing appeared in the circle of light. Bruce took in the newcomer's appearance. He had what Bruce thought of as a 'Fu Manchu' mustache, which on this man did not look at all ridiculous. In addition, he was dressed in a rather exotic robe with a slightly Middle Eastern flavor. Not exactly the kind of clothes that your typical thief wore on a job, Bruce thought.

"Who are you?" Bruce demanded.

"Good evening, Mr. Wayne. Please accept my apologies for the intrusion. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Ra's al Ghul, at your service." Al Ghul bowed dramatically at his self-introduction.

"Al Ghul?" Bruce repeated. "Talia, do you know this man?"

"Talia...my beloved child." Al Ghul looked upon Talia with a genuine smile of affection. "How long has it been since my old eyes were soothed by the sight of your unsurpassed beauty?"

"Your child!" Bruce looked stunned.

"Father, I see you still have a flair for making a dramatic entrance," Talia said dryly. "To what do I owe this invasion of my privacy?"

"Father?" Bruce repeated.

"Invasion of your privacy?" Al Ghul spoke with feigned indignation. "Is that any way for an obedient and loving daughter to speak to her father?"

"Loving-yes! Obedient? No longer." Lifting her chin in defiance, Talia moved over next to Bruce and deliberately took his arm. "I now belong to this man. As his wife I am commanded only by him."

"Wife?" Al Ghul turned furious eyes on Bruce. "With this-this international playboy?" He advanced on Talia, looking like he was about to strike her.

Bruce stepped between them.

"Wait!" he said sharply. "Look, Mr. Al Ghul, there's been some kind of misunderstanding here. I **_asked_** Talia to marry me, but we haven't made it official yet. I was hoping to do it as soon as we returned to the States."

Al Ghul glared at Bruce, as if taking in the meaning of his words. He then turned to his daughter for confirmation. At her nod, an expression of understanding took over Al Ghul's features.

"Oh, I see..." He spoke in a soft, thoughtful voice, nodding to himself as he considered the situation. "So, my dearest daughter, this is how you repay your father's devotion. You use our marriage laws against me?"

"Father, please...I love him!"

"Love?" Al Ghul's voice was still eerily soft, and yet it resounded in the room as if he had shouted it. "How very touching." He glared at Talia, but made no move towards her. "Your youthful impetuousness," he spat out, "will cost me a very important alliance!" He snapped his fingers. "Seize him!"

Several armed men instantly surrounded Bruce; however, he did not surrender quietly. Letting his training take over, he elbowed one of the men in the face, while simultaneously striking another with the heel of the palm of his hand. Reaching back, he threw still another assailant over his head, tossing him into three others that were rushing towards him.

Unfortunately, for every one he took out, it seemed that three others replaced him. In the end, Bruce was overwhelmed by the sheer numbers against him and before long he stood before Al Ghul, his arms effectively pinned uselessly behind him.

"Dispose of him," Al Ghul ordered.

"Father, no!" Talia cried. "If you hurt him, I swear on my mother's grave that I will never let you see your grandchild!"

"Grandchild?" Bruce and Al Ghul said at the same time.

"Talia, why didn't you tell me?" Bruce asked, sounding hurt.

"Forgive me, Beloved. I was waiting for the proper moment in order to surprise you. I am sorry that you had to find out like this." She glared at her father. "What will it be, Father? My happiness, in which you will be allowed to share? Or banishment from the life of your grandchild-forever!"

"That's blackmail!" Al Ghul roared.

"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Talia sounded smug. "You taught me well."

There was a collective holding of breath in the room at the father/daughter exchange. Bruce thought that this must be one of those moments when you could 'hear a pin drop.' To everyone's surprised relief, Al Ghul placed his hands on his hips and burst into a deep, rumbling laugh. Before long, a few nervous chuckles echoed his laughter in the room.

"You are indeed my daughter," Al Ghul announced proudly. He snapped his fingers at the men who were holding Bruce, and they instantly released him. One shoved him insolently as they backed off, and Bruce made a move towards him. However, he was stopped by Talia who had run into his arms.

"Beloved, are you all right?" she asked, searching his face. "Did they hurt you?"

"Come, Daughter, introduce me to your bridegroom!"

Bruce stepped forward a bit awkwardly. "Look, Mr. Al Ghul...like I said before-Talia and I aren't married yet, but I promise that as soon as we return to the States!"

"Mr. Wayne, you **_did_** ask my daughter for her hand in marriage?" Bruce nodded. Turning to Talia, Al Ghul asked, "And, of course, you accepted his offer, freely and without coercion, even though it was without my permission?" At Talia's nod, Al Ghul smiled broadly and held his arms open to her. With a cry of happiness, Talia ran into her father's waiting arms.

"Oh, Father!" she cried. "Do you then approve of my choice even if just a tiny bit?"

"Of course, my daughter!" Al Ghul actually sounded surprised, as if doubting her choice had never been in question. "Why wouldn't I approve? I am your father, after all. I only desire your eternal happiness. Besides-" He gave Bruce a measuring look. "-you chose well. And, he is the father of my grandchild." He nodded at Bruce and held his hand out. Bruce took it in his and the two men shook. "Welcome to my family, my son!"

"Thank you, sir," Bruce said with a half-smile. "I appreciate the welcome, but like I said..." He stopped and shrugged. "Oh, what's the use?"

Al Ghul smiled at Bruce's discomfiture. "My son, it is obvious that you do not know our customs. For a marriage to be considered valid by my people, all one needs is the woman's free consent. When did you propose?"

"At approximately ten yesterday morning."

Al Ghul smiled. "Then congratulations! You have been married now for- (He checked his watch. It was two in the morning.) "-sixteen hours."

Taken aback by the news, Bruce turned to Talia. "Is what he says true?"

Talia nodded. "Yes, my beloved, but do not worry. As soon as we return to the United States, we shall 'make it official' according to your traditions." Looking down, she lovingly patted her abdomen. "I do not want our little one to be born-how do you say it-out of wedlock." She looked up at him. "Are you pleased, Beloved? I know that you weren't expecting to become a father quite so soon, but-"

Bruce gently placed his forefinger on her lips. "I've never been happier in my life."

"Splendid!" Al Ghul said. "Now that that's settled!" He snapped his fingers. Instantly, an obsequious, slightly hunched-over little man stood next to Al Ghul, rubbing his hands together.

"Yes, Master?" The little man spoke in a barely discernable whisper.

"Prepare a feast! We celebrate my daughter's marriage and my future grandchild at first light."

"Yes, Master." The little man bowed as he backed away.

"Stop!" All eyes turned to the slight figure at the top of the staircase. Alfred! Bruce's eyes widened when he saw what his loyal friend held in his hands-a twelve-gauge shotgun!

"Alfred, put that thing down before you get yourself killed," Bruce ordered, exasperated.

"Not until I make one thing perfectly clear to our uninvited guests, Master Bruce." The punctilious Englishman looked down his rather long nose at Ra's al Ghul. "If there is any 'feast' to be prepared in **_this_** house-it is **_I_** who shall do the preparing. And woe unto any who would dare interfere in my household duties."

Al Ghul gave Alfred a long, calculating glare. At last, he nodded in approval. "Excellent...my son, you choose your servants well."

"Alfred isn't a 'servant'," Bruce said stiffly. "Alfred is my family."

"Of course...of course. No offense was meant." Addressing Alfred, Al Ghul bowed in surrender. "You are the master of the house. My servants are at your command."

Alfred gazed disdainfully at the fawning servant who was still waiting patiently for his orders. Sniffing slightly, Alfred nodded in agreement and put the shotgun down.

"Very well," he said. "Might I suggest, Master Bruce, that I show our visitors to the guest quarters? The hour is rather late, and-" He gestured towards the main entrance where a large retinue of servants stood by, guarding their Master's extensive luggage. He added dryly, "-It would appear that Mr. Al Ghul is planning to grace us with an extended stay."

* * *

At first light, the long tables in the grand ballroom were packed with Al Ghul's followers. Bruce carefully watched the festivities from his position of honor at the head table. Sitting between him and Talia, Al Ghul led his men in several toasts in honor of the newlyweds. Bruce counted more than fifty armed men in the dining room. This did not include the guards outside, nor the large retinue of servants that seemed to travel with him.

A child, he thought bemused. I'm going to be father. He stopped, going suddenly cold. I don't know anything about being a father. What if one day he comes in and asks me about girls? What am I going to do? He gave himself a mental headshake. Get a grip, Wayne. The baby hasn't even born yet, and you're already panicking over future father/son talks. I mean, what if it's a girl?

He felt his stomach twist inside him. Oh, God...! What if it **_is_** a girl? What happens when she starts dating? He grabbed his wine glass and tossed it back, drinking its contents in one swallow. His hands shaking, he replaced the empty glass on the table. Get a hold of yourself, Wayne! You're making a complete fool of yourself. He felt a sudden need to hold Talia in his arms.

Checking his watch, Bruce saw that the celebration had already dragged on for the greater part of the morning and did not appear as if it would be coming to a close anytime soon. He caught sight of Alfred directing Al Ghul's minions with the self-assurance of a commanding general. Allowing himself a small smile, Bruce saw that Alfred was in his element, his orders sure and rapid-fire, his demeanor calm and dignified.

"I'm sure glad someone's enjoying himself," Bruce muttered.

"What was that, my son?" Al Ghul asked, leaning over. "I am afraid that the noise in here makes it most difficult to carry on a decent conversation."

"I said that I'm glad that everyone seems to be enjoying themselves," Bruce replied smoothly. Then pushing his chair back and picking up his wine goblet, Bruce stood up and signaled for quiet. "Gentlemen...a toast."

He turned and faced Talia, holding his glass up to her. As one, all the chairs in the room were pushed back as over fifty men rose to their feet at the same time. "To my lovely bride Talia," Bruce intoned. "Never was there a man as lucky as I, nor as happy as I am at this moment. May we treasure this moment forever in our hearts."

As he put the goblet to his lips, the ballroom rang with the resounding sound of men's voices:

"Hear! Hear!"

"To the Lady Talia!"

"Never was there ever such a beauty as she!"

"Long live the Lady Talia!"

"Long live the Master-Ra's al Ghul!"

"All hail the Master! All hail the Lady Talia!"

At last Al Ghul signaled for silence. The room was instantly still. Like when Alfred used to turn off the volume on my stereo, Bruce noted wryly.

"My friends, you honor me and my family with your love and loyalty. I most humbly thank you and assure you that such fealty will not go un-rewarded." He smiled expansively. "And now, I believe that the bride and groom wish to retire-" His words were met with a few raucous comments. "-but there is still plenty of food and drink left. Enjoy yourselves, for tomorrow we journey home."

At Al Ghul's words, his steadfast followers returned to their merrymaking as he turned to Talia and Bruce.

"Tomorrow, Father?" Talia asked disappointedly. "Must you return so soon?"

"Yes, my child, I am afraid that it must be so. I have urgent business that cannot be delayed."

"Surely you can put aside whatever it is a little longer?" Bruce asked. "I mean...you and Talia haven't seen each other in months. You haven't really had a chance to catch up yet. What could be more important than that?"

Al Ghul gave Bruce a sad shake of the head. "One day, my son, you will understand that there are some things that simply cannot be put off-even for those one loves." Taking in Talia's sad countenance, Al Ghul gently cupped her delicate chin in his hand. "My child, there is a possible solution."

"What, Father?" Talia seemed hesitant, as if dreading his reply.

"Why don't you and your bridegroom accompany me back to Demon's Head?"

"Demon's Head?" Bruce asked blankly.

"My secluded desert headquarters," Al Ghul explained. "Our home-Talia's and mine. And now yours, as well, my son...for as long as you wish."

Talia shook her head, uncertainly. "No...I don't think that that's such a good idea, Father. I mean, Bruce and I have a wedding to plan. That takes a great deal of time and attention to detail-"

"I am sure that Alfred is more than capable of making all of the necessary arrangements, my dear. He seems most competent in such matters." Al Ghul looked questioningly at Bruce. "I am correct, am I not?"

Bruce shrugged. "I suppose so. I mean-he's never had occasion to plan one before, but-"

"I can assure you, Master Bruce...Miss Talia...I am more than capable of making all of the arrangements." Alfred bowed slightly at Talia. "It would be my pleasure-and my honor."

"But what about a wedding dress?" Talia asked. "I mean...there will be a need for fittings, selecting the material, the design...plus since I will probably be a bit larger by the wedding, that must also be taken into consideration."

"Miss Talia, before I came into the employ of the Wayne family, I spent a brief stint working in one of London's finest couture boutiques in Connaught Village. I assure you that you will not be disappointed." Taking her lovely hand in his, Alfred bent down and gently pressed his lips to it. "Please...enjoy your trip home. It is an excellent opportunity for Master Bruce to see the place where you grew up, and to get to know your father better."

Al Ghul smiled broadly. "An excellent suggestion, my good friend Alfred! My daughter, my son-tomorrow we return to Demon's Head!"

Was it Bruce's imagination, or did Talia look as if that were the last thing she wanted?

End of Part 8


	9. Chapter 9

Acknowledgement: Yet another heartfelt thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for having beta-read this chapter. It went through several rewrites, and I'm afraid that I really maxed out their generosity.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Nine

* * *

"Why didn't she want to go?" Dicky asked, stifling a yawn.

At Dick's tired question, Bruce paused in his storytelling. His expression softening, Bruce pushed back the same stubborn lock of hair that always fell over the boy's eyes. Dicky yawned again, causing Bruce to smile with his eyes. He checked his watch and was surprised by how much time had passed. It was after six p.m.

"Looks like I've talked a little more than I realized, chum. What do you say I get you home? If we hurry, we won't be late for dinner."

"And Alfred won't put us **_both_** in timeout?" Dicky suggested covering another yawn.

"If we're late for dinner, I don't think Alfred will blame you," Bruce said. "I think Batman will be the one who's sent to the corner."

Dicky laughed tiredly. "I bet Rupert Thorne and his gang would like that!"

"You think?" Bruce started the jeep and put it in gear. Before releasing the clutch, he bent down and looked seriously at Dicky. "You don't think that maybe Alfred is on Thorne's payroll, do you? I mean, he **_is_** always trying to talk me out of going out at night?"

Dicky looked shocked. "Not Alfred!" The little boy shook his head. "He **_loves_** us! Honest, Bruce, Alfred would **_never-_**!" A sudden rumbling from Bruce stopped him. Bruce was laughing? If Dicky weren't held firmly by his seatbelt he might have fallen out of the jeep. He matched Bruce's deep rumble with his own high, childish laughter. "Awwww...! You're just teasing me!" He giggled, but then became serious. "We're awfully lucky aren't we, Bruce?"

"How's that, Munchkin?"

"I've got you, and you've got me...and-"

"-We've **_both_** got Alfred!" they finished together. Bruce affectionately ruffled Dicky's dark head.

"Yeah, Munchkin...we're both darned lucky! Let's go home." Releasing the clutch, Bruce put the jeep in reverse and backed out of the clearing. In the time that they had been parked, the sun's rays had slowly found their way up to the treetops, having crept up from the forest floor, leaving the clearing in deep shadow. This reminded Bruce of the lateness of the hour, and although he had not finished his story, he felt satisfied. There would be plenty of time to tell Dicky the rest.

At least, the rest of the story as far as he remembered it.

"Bruce, what if the reporters are still at home? How are we gonna get through them?"

Bruce gave Dicky a sly look. "Don't worry, Chum...I know a back way." At Bruce's words, Dicky gave him a look that Bruce knew mirrored his own. Like father, like son, he thought.

* * *

They drove in silence, neither mentioning the story that had been left unfinished. Bruce knew that he would have to pick up where he had left off sooner rather than later. It was inevitable that Dicky would hear the news that he was Bruce's biological son, and that was the last thing Bruce wanted. He wanted Dicky to hear it from him-not from one of Gotham's myriad gossipmongers.

He glanced at his son. The boy stifled yet another yawn and rubbed his eyes sleepily. Again, Bruce felt overwhelmed by the rush of emotions that washed through him. My son...he thought wonderingly. And Talia's, he added. Why didn't you tell me, Talia? How could you have kept him from me? I loved you...I trusted you. How could you have betrayed me like you did? How could you have betrayed our love?

And how could you have given our son away?

Bruce felt the old rage build inside him and welcomed it. He wanted to be angry, to hurl cruel invectives at her memory. He wanted to experience the old feelings of vengeful wrath at her seemingly incomprehensible act of treachery.

But he could not. If Bruce were brutally honest with himself, then he knew, or he could at least surmise, her reasons for what she did. He had loved her enough to know that Talia's actions were guided by only two reasons: Her love for Bruce and her love for her father.

He thought of their short time together. If he were a man prone to wax poetically, he might have echoed Poe's words of his beautiful Annabel Lee that they had 'loved with a love that was more than love.' But look at how badly **_that_** love affair ended, Bruce added ironically.

As for Talia, her love and fealty to her father were just as strong as her love and loyalty for Bruce. And these feelings had been at war from the very start.

In the end, when forced to choose between being a loyal wife to Bruce and an obedient daughter to her father, Talia chose neither. Instead, she acted as a mother: She chose to protect her child. Like the mama bird, Bruce realized, Talia gave up her baby in order to protect it.

Bruce felt a crushing sadness surge over him. I should've known, Talia. I should've believed in you. Will you ever forgive me? Will I ever forgive myself? He looked down at his sleeping son and felt his throat catch. More importantly...will Dicky ever forgive the two of us?

* * *

As they drove in silence, Dicky felt slightly bemused at why Bruce was telling him this story about a woman with whom he had once been in love. And why had the reporters all been waiting outside the manor? What had their questions meant? And what did Bruce mean about the judge, and...about Dicky being his son?

Dicky felt a sudden throbbing behind his eyes. He felt sleepy and struggled to keep his eyes open despite the pain. Surrendering to the inevitable, he closed his eyes and nodded off...

* * *

...Dicky felt himself falling, falling, falling...down an endless tunnel. Somehow he knew that he was going back to a time not his own. He felt no different than when Alfred woke him up this morning, and yet, he knew he was no longer Dicky Grayson. He was...someone else. Someone important. Someone very sad.

Arthur. He was King Arthur...

As soon as this information became apparent, Dicky opened his eyes. Only he wasn't Dicky anymore. He was King Arthur of Camelot and he was preparing for battle. Memories of Dicky receded in his consciousness, until they were a mere whisper from a forgotten dream.

Arthur's personal attendant assisted him with donning his mail and personal colors. He stood impatiently as each item was carefully fitted onto his trim build. At last, when he was ready, he turned and waited.

Reverently, Sir Galahad, acting as King's Champion, walked into the King's antechamber, holding Excalibur in both hands. With slow measured steps, Galahad walked up to his king and knelt before him, presenting the venerable sword to him.

Arthur took Excalibur, and holding it up, murmured a short prayer and then brought it to his lips. His brief ritual done, Arthur sheathed the powerful sword.

"Let us pray, young Galahad, that there will be no need for Excalibur to be unsheathed in anger today."

"I fear, Sire, that Mordred has already destroyed that hope."

"You are right, of course," Arthur conceded. "And yet...one should never stop praying for peace." Galahad nodded his agreement. With a false bravado, Arthur slapped him on the shoulder. "Come, Sir Knight! The battle awaits us!"

* * *

...Dicky woke with a start. Bruce's hand was on his shoulder, gently shaking him awake. "Hey, sleepyhead," Bruce murmured. "We're home." Blinking, Dicky looked around. Bruce's 'back way' home had been the Bat Cave's secret entrance. They were now parked to the side in order to avoid blocking the Batmobile. "Come on, I have a feeling Alfred's feeling a little impatient."

Dicky nodded sleepily. Climbing out of the jeep, he followed Bruce up the long stone staircase that led to the Manor above. "Bruce?" Bruce turned to him, his eyes questioning. "Why are you telling me about Talia?" As he asked, Dicky rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm. A slight throbbing behind his eyes made him feel sluggish.

Bruce studied the little boy, and seeing that Dicky looked a bit out of sorts bent down and picked him up. Not protesting, Dicky automatically put his arms around Bruce's neck and laid his head on his guardian's shoulder.

"I'll tell you what, Munchkin," Bruce said. "Let's get some food into you first, and then if you're up to it, I'll continue my story. Okay?"

Dicky mumbled his agreement. However, before they had made it through the secret entrance into Bruce's study, the boy was fast asleep.

* * *

Bruce studied his son's quiet features in the dark. Dicky slept peacefully, snugly tucked in his bed. Bruce had carried his boy upstairs and personally changed him into his pajamas, something he usually left to Alfred.

He smiled a brief, half-smile. His first effort had fallen far short of the mark, with the Superman 'S' somehow ending up on Dicky's back. But with Alfred's patient tutelage, Bruce had managed to right the error to his great satisfaction.

Sitting now in the safe environs of Dicky's bedroom, Bruce wondered how he could have ever neglected this part of his parental education. Obviously, changing one's sleeping child without waking him up was an important skill in this 'being a Dad' business. I'll have to have a talk with Alfred for neglecting this area of my studies.

The door quietly opened, interrupting Bruce's musings. "Sir?" Alfred spoke softly. "I am afraid that your services are required elsewhere." As he spoke, Alfred drew the curtains. Flashing eerily against the Gotham skies, the Bat-Signal beckoned. For the first time since he had started his relentless nocturnal mission, Bruce felt resentful of the call.

How much of his life had he already given to the cause? How much more could they demand of him? Dicky needed him. His son needed his father. Looking down at the sleeping boy, Bruce felt himself rebelling against the Signal. Maybe just this once, he could ignore its call, he told himself.

"Sir?" Alfred's quiet voice broke in. "Will you be going out tonight?"

Bruce again looked out at the Signal and felt the usual adrenaline rush kick in. Of course, he would answer the call. Straightening his shoulders, Bruce nodded, and took one last look at Dicky. Impulsively, he bent down and kissed him on the cheek. Holding Dicky for a moment, Bruce whispered into his ear, "I'll be back, son. Sleep well."

* * *

...He stood on a walkway, overlooking the battlements of Camelot. Colorful banners snapped crisply in the brisk wind, as if announcing the coming battle. Years after that first meeting on the coastal plains of fair Gynnedd, Mordred and his sorceress mother, Morgana, had once again raised yet another army against him.

Arthur sighed.

Things were not going well. Nothing had, not since Lancelot and Guinevere's betrayal. Thoughts of his first knight and queen came to him. He had loved them both dearly, and this is how they repaid his love.

Taking a deep, calming breath, he closed his eyes, feeling a familiar ache inside. However, because Arthur was a man of painstaking honesty, he was incapable of lying even to himself. Thus, he had to admit privately that he loved them still.

"With a love that is more than love," he whispered. But they had betrayed him...No, they had betrayed their king and henceforth were forever lost to him, banished from the realm. "What is love?" he wondered. "Is it something that one can hold in his hand and measure-to control the amount he feels?"

He looked upon the gathering darkness. Already, Mordred and Morgana had defeated much of the surrounding castle outposts, manned by many of the bravest Knights of the Round Table. Some had already fallen in battle-among them Sir Ector and Sir Kay, Arthur's foster father and brother respectively-and were now part of Mordred's unholy army of the undead.

Those who had been captured were put through unimaginable horrors, until they, too, had at last succumbed to death. The fortunate ones had managed to seek refuge behind the protective walls of Camelot. Sadly, their numbers were too few.

All was lost.

Arthur had no will left to fight. The dream that had once been Camelot was dead, the Round Table destroyed. Even Merlin had left, disgusted by what he considered Arthur's lack of will. "Perhaps if Lance and Jenny had been able to measure their love?" he said to himself. "-and left me just a pinch to hold onto? Perhaps then I would have the will to fight?"

"My liege?" Galahad stood next to him, his inner purity shining forth, a too-bright light that hurt Arthur's eyes. "Did you speak? I did not catch what you said?"

Arthur laid his gauntleted hand on his trusted knight. Ironic wasn't it? Galahad, the son of Lancelot the man who had betrayed him, stood by his side, while his own nephew Mordred whom he had tried to bring into the fold waited impatiently to destroy him. As for his half-sister, the evil sorceress Morgana, her all-consuming hatred of him and Uther Pendragon, his father, had brought them all to this.

"It is nothing with which to concern yourself, young Galahad. It is enough to know that you stand by my side."

Galahad removed his helm and went down on one knee. "Sire...my father...he swore fealty to you, and on my honor, he loves you still. If you would only let him stand by you in his rightful place as King's Champion."

Arthur looked down at the young knight who was torn between love for his father and loyalty to his king. "Rise, Sir Galahad," Arthur said softly. "I have never stopped loving Lancelot as a brother, but a king's heart is not his own." He looked away momentarily. "I will understand if you would wish to return to France and your dear mother, the Lady Elaine."

"My lady mother is dead, Sire," Galahad said, eyes downcast. "I only received word last night by courier." He looked up. "She caught a chill in midwinter and never left her bed. I don't believe Father knows." Galahad's voice caught. "I sent Archimedes with a message..." Archimedes was Arthur's pet owl. "I hope that was all right, my liege?"

"Of course, lad. Please accept my deepest condolences. The Lady Elaine was a fair and noble gentlewoman. The world has been a better place to be graced by her beauty and kindness." Arthur laid his hand on Galahad's shoulder. "But is that not all the more reason for you to return home?"

Meeting Arthur's eyes the young knight gave him a smile tinged with sorrow and pride. "My lady mother would be the first to say that my place is here by your side, Majesty. As is my father's-"

A cry from the upper battlements interrupted him. "A rider! A rider approaches!" Instantly, the King's Heralds trumpeted in unison to announce the arrival.

All eyes turned in the direction the lookout was pointing. A lone horseman galloped towards the castle at a breakneck pace. From his vantage point, Arthur saw that the rider was dressed entirely in black, a mere shadow moving swiftly through the Cornish moors outside the walls of Camelot. His mail and accouterments appeared to be purposefully non-reflective in the mid-afternoon sun.

With an unearthly cry, a group of enemy soldiers broke off from their tight ranks and in a wave ran towards the lone horseman. As the rider drew nearer, Arthur studied his horsemanship. Only one knight in all of Britain could ride like that. "Lancelot," he whispered. Dismay at seeing the return of his outlawed knight warred with feelings of joy. Perhaps now they would stand an even chance against the encroaching darkness.

"Archers!" Arthur yelled. "Prepare to let fly!" As one, the King's Own Archers readied their arrows for flight. Waiting for the right moment, he finally roared, "Release!" At the king's command, a terrible rain of death showered down on the enemy that had dared break ranks. The Dark Knight, meanwhile, galloped without pause straight towards the gates of Camelot. "Open the gates!" Arthur called.

His command was repeated down the line until he heard the loud protesting groans of the massive portcullis being raised. As soon as the Dark Knight was in, the portcullis was once again lowered...

* * *

...Dicky stirred in his sleep. He felt a growing sense of impending doom. He wanted to wake up, but found that he could not. He wanted to help Arthur fight the demon army that waited outside the walls of Camelot, but felt powerless to do so. He wanted to look away, afraid of the horrors that were to come; however, Dicky knew that duty obliged him to witness the imminent battle.

I want to help, he pleaded silently. Please...how can I help?

"You are helping, Richard," an amused voice answered.

"Who said that?" Dicky demanded.

"Why, I did."

"Who **_are_** you?" Dicky asked annoyed. "And what are you doing in my dream?"

"How do you know that this is **_your_** dream?" the voice challenged. "Maybe it is **_you_** who has invaded **_my_** dream?"

"Huh?"

"Oh, never mind that now," the voice said a bit impatiently. "You say you wish to help?"

Dicky nodded in his sleep.

"Then let the battle play itself out. Be a witness to what happened back then. Learn from your past mistakes so that you do not repeat them."

"**_My_** past mistakes?"

"Your life and the lives of your parents may well depend on it."

"My parents? But my parents are dead!"

"-I'm sorry, Richard, I've already said more than I'm allowed."

"No, wait...what did you mean by that?"

"Remember..." the voice said, fading out. "You must be very brave..." It died out entirely.

**_"No! Don't go!"_**

Dicky shot up in bed, his desperate cry ringing in the room. Alfred was immediately by his side, holding him to him.

"There, there, young sir..." Alfred soothed. "It was all a dream...just a bad dream."

"But it was so real, Alfred," Dicky insisted. "He said that I had to be brave 'cause my parents' lives depended on it!"

"Yes, yes, of course..." Alfred nodded, gently pushing Dicky back onto his pillows. "But it wasn't your fault, Master Richard. There was nothing you could have done...not then, not now. You did what you could. You tried to warn your mother and father that that miscreant Zucco was up to no good, but to no avail. I know you feel guilty, but remember...nothing that happened was your fault. **_Zucco_** killed your parents, not you."

"No, Alfred, you don't understand," Dicky said, trying to explain. "He said that my parents' lives depended on my being brave **_now_**, not back then." Dicky paused, trying to remember the quickly fading dream. "He said...I'm not sure what he said...I-" He looked worriedly up at Alfred. "I'm supposed to do something, Alfred...but I don't know what."

Alfred listened patiently to Dicky's dream-induced ramblings, nodding in the appropriate moments and frowning in others. At last, the young boy settled down sufficiently to be tucked back under his covers, and the loyal valet did so, taking care to give Dicky's dream its due.

"I believe, Master Richard, that the old adage, 'sleep on it,' is in order."

"But-"

Alfred gently laid a finger over Dicky's lips, effectively shushing him. "Whatever came to you in your dreams may do so again if you allow yourself to go back to sleep. Then, whatever it is you have to do may yet reveal itself to you in your dreams."

Too tired to argue, Dicky nodded blearily, and almost immediately, fell back into a deep slumber.

* * *

The kaleidoscopic flash of blue and red lights from dozens of emergency vehicles illuminated the night. Men and women in uniform stood unmoving behind whatever protection they could find. Police officers crouched, their weapons drawn, casting strange shadows in the dazzling glare. Firefighters waited tensely, wondering what kind of casualties they faced.

Emergency-band radios squawked their gibberish, adding to the general confusion. Gordon stood to the side, a lone figure seemingly lost in the sea of chaos.

"What do you have?"

Gordon jumped. The deep voice never ceased to take him by surprise. Even when he expected it, knew that it was coming, Gordon somehow always managed to be startled.

"You enjoy doing that, don't you?" Gordon growled resentfully. "I swear between you scaring me half to death, and my daughter going on her first date, I'm going to be an old man before my time."

The dark presence next to him did not respond; instead, Gordon **_felt_**, rather than heard, his growing impatience. The police captain sighed. When he had been promoted to the head of the Violent Crimes Division, he knew that he would see some things that would be better left unseen by most people. However, no one had ever prepared him for anyone or anything like Batman.

Still, in the time that Gordon had worked with the mysterious vigilante, the detective had grown to trust and respect him.

"Okay...we got an anonymous tip earlier tonight that a bomb had been set to go off before midnight at Ace Chemicals. We've got the bomb squad going through it right now, but so far, we've come up empty."

"A hoax?"

"Maybe," Gordon said, sounding unconvinced. "But take a look at this-" He handed Batman a folded paper. "What do you make of it? I found it shortly after the bomb threat." He shrugged. "I was with the Chief when the call came in. As soon as we got word, I hotfooted it to my office and found the note lying on the middle of my desk." Searching the shadows, he added, "It wasn't there before I went to the Chief's office, I'm sure of that." He waited for a reply, but none came. This time it was **_his_** turn to grow impatient.

"Well? What do you **_think_**?" He moved towards where he knew the disembodied voice had been standing. There was no one there. As silently as the Dark Knight had arrived, he had left.

At that moment a sergeant from the bomb squad came up to him and reported the all clear. It had been a hoax, after all. Gordon sighed. He glanced back thoughtfully at the shadows where Batman had been standing. "Did he know, I wonder?" Gordon mused. "And if so-how?"

* * *

The Batmobile roared through the teeming streets of Gotham City. Ace Chemicals was located across the Gotham River on the other side of The New Tri-Gate Bridge. Wayne Manor lay nestled the city subdivision of Bristol Hills, directly on the opposite side of town.

He should have known, should have been prepared for this. As soon as the news media had announced that he was Dicky's biological father-no, as soon as **_he_** had had the remotest inkling that Dicky was his son-he should have taken Dicky to some remote corner of the earth and hidden him for his protection.

Pressing down harder on the accelerator, Batman maneuvered the powerful vehicle onto the Aparo Expressway, passing civilian traffic at dangerous speeds in his haste.

As he drove, Batman's mind swirled with long-repressed memories of Demon's Head. Images of Talia flooded his consciousness-her forced smiles that hid some dark secret, the guarded looks she gave him when he asked her questions about her father, her angry tears when he at last confronted her and demanded the truth.

An icy fist seemed to enclose itself around his chest. Batman hit the turbo-thrusters. He had to hurry, before it was too late. Batman thought of the note that Gordon had passed him. All it had said was Revelations 1:3.

_The time is at hand_.

His adrenaline running on overdrive, Batman's thoughts turned back again to the fateful day that marked Talia's homecoming...

End of Part 9


	10. Chapter 10

Acknowledgement: Yet another heartfelt thanks to Beth, Anna, and Char for having beta-reading this chapter. It went through several rewrites, and I'm afraid that I really maxed out their generosity.

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright January 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Ten

* * *

The morning dawned with the French countryside estate empty of all of Ra's al Ghul's men, except for his personal bodyguards and a small contingent of servants. When Bruce questioned Al Ghul about it, the older man merely shrugged and waved the matter off as of no consequence.

"I have sent them on ahead, Bruce. We have long been gone from our desert oasis, and I am afraid that my loyal followers grow restless for their wives and families."

"But what kind of transportation do they have?" Bruce asked. "I mean, I still don't know how you got here. Para-glider? Stealth bomber? Warp drive?"

Al Ghul laughed in hearty appreciation. "You have a marvelous imagination, Bruce. Talia's life with you will no doubt be a long, fruitful one filled with the sounds of laughter." Shaking his head as if still amused, Al Ghul made his way to the veranda.

Bruce knew that his question had been expertly sidestepped, and he followed Al Ghul determined to question him further. Talia's presence at the breakfast table forestalled any further questions.

"Good morning, Father." Talia coolly held her cheek out for a fatherly kiss. However, when her eyes fell on Bruce, her entire demeanor lit up like a beacon on a storm-tossed sea. "Beloved! I was beginning to think that you were going to sleep the day away."

"I'm sorry, darling," Bruce said, bending down and giving her a good morning kiss. "I guess I overslept."

"That is quite all right, Beloved," Talia said, caressing his cheek. "I was up at first light, trying my hand at capturing that enchanting view on canvas." She waved at the panoramic view from the veranda.

"Excellent!" Bruce smiled in approval, glancing over where she had set up her paints and easel. Seeing that the unfinished painting was facing away from the table, he made a move to get up, but Talia laid a staying hand on his arm.

"No, Beloved, not yet. I have it deliberately turned in that direction in order to keep it from being seen by prying eyes."

"Prying eyes?" Bruce protested. "You don't mean **_me_**?"

"**_Especially_** you!" Talia said with a short laugh. Then turning serious, she entreated quietly. "Please, indulge me for the moment. I wish to surprise you when I finish it. Promise me that you won't look?"

Seeing that this was important to her, Bruce readily agreed. "I promise." Talia lightly squeezed his hand in gratitude.

"Bruce, I see that Talia has already worked her magic on you." At Bruce's inquiring look, Al Ghul added easily, "I have never been able to deny my daughter anything either." Giving Talia an indulgent smile, he said, "Ever since the day she was born, I am afraid that my Talia has had me wound tightly round her little finger."

Cheeks flushed at her father's teasing, Talia dropped her eyes. It was Bruce's turn to gently squeeze her hand.

Oblivious to his daughter's embarrassment, Al Ghul turned and called for service. "Abdul-Jalil!"

Instantly, the same fawning servant whom Alfred found so repugnant materialized at Al Ghul's side. Watching him, Bruce mentally rolled his eyes. Talia had informed him that Abdul-Jalil's name meant 'Servant of the Great, Revered One,' and as evidenced by his hovering at his master's side, anticipating his every need, it was obvious that the toady little man took the meaning of his name to heart. Bruce gave a slight, mental shake of the head and looked away.

Alfred stepped out onto the veranda carrying a tray with fresh fruit and different assortments of baked goods. Bruce saw that Alfred's demeanor was as impeccable as ever; however, he also caught the tiniest clenching of the staid butler's jaw when Jalil handed his master the salt and pepper shakers accompanied with several deep bows in rapid succession. Amused, Bruce carefully kept his eyes focused on a point elsewhere on the horizon.

Once he had eaten his fill, Al Ghul pushed his chair back and stood. Taking in a deep breath, he exhaled in appreciation and walked towards the railing that ran along the edge of the veranda.

"Ah, Bruce! The air here is as pure and crisp as it must have been at the dawn of creation! One can clearly see to the edge of the horizon from here. There is no haze or industrial pollutants to obscure your magnificent view." He took a long appreciative look at the green fields before him. "It is obvious that you do not suffer from the usual filth and poisons that many, so-called civilized nations spew out into the atmosphere. How lucky you are to have your home in such a place."

"I'm glad you like it," Bruce said. "But it's only rented for the summer. Gotham City is my real home, and at the earliest opportunity, Talia and I will return there."

Al Ghul narrowed his eyes. "Gotham City?" he murmured. "A dark and dismal place if I remember correctly."

Bruce shrugged. "Some see it that way, I suppose..." Bruce paused, considering Gotham's many blighted neighborhoods, its high crime rate, and failing infrastructure. "But me...?" He spoke so softly, he was barely audible. "I call her home." At his words, Talia gazed thoughtfully at him, while Al Ghul glared sharply.

"What did you say?" Al Ghul demanded.

"Excuse me?" Bruce looked at Al Ghul as if he had forgotten that his father-in-law was there.

"I asked you what you had said." Al Ghul's dark gaze burned into Bruce as if willing him to confess to his words.

"I said that Gotham City is my home."

"A rather harsh mistress, I would wager," Al Ghul offered thoughtfully. Bruce gave him a quizzical look, and then shrugged as if he believed the topic were unimportant.

"No more so, I'm sure, than your desert hideaway, sir."

Al Ghul nodded. "Perhaps you are correct, my son." Abruptly clapping his hands, he called sharply to his servant. "Jalil! Come! The time to leave draws near! See to it that we do not miss our deadline."

"Yes, Master!" Jalil said, backing away from Al Ghul.

Turning to Talia and Bruce, Al Ghul opened his arms wide in an expansive gesture. "My children, we leave in one hour."

* * *

Exactly one hour later, Bruce and Talia waited in the downstairs study. Next to a comfortable leather sofa sat two medium-sized suitcases. Not much to be taken on an extended visit, Bruce said when Alfred had brought them down...

"Your luggage, Master Bruce, is packed per Miss Talia's instructions. She informed me that you and she would be provided with all you'd need upon your arrival at" Alfred paused, gave a slight sniff, and then continued somewhat distastefully. "Demon's Head."

"Oh." Bruce shrugged. He had never been much interested in clothes anyway. They were usually a hindrance to his chosen clandestine activities and rarely lasted long...

Now the only thing that held his interest was at last finding out how Al Ghul and his men had arrived there. Bruce had wracked his brains trying to recall the sound of an engine approaching the estate. For that matter, he couldn't recall any tire tracks either leading towards or away from the house.

Bruce shook his head. They hadn't just materialized out of thin air, he knew. So how? His private musings were interrupted by the appearance of Ra's al Ghul. Bruce looked at his watch. Five minutes before they were scheduled to depart.

"My children," Al Ghul addressed them. "It is time!"

Nodding, Bruce made a move to pick up the luggage, but Jalil beat him to it. "Your pardon, Young Master Wayne," Jalil said. "I shall see that these are loaded onto"

"That will be enough," Al Ghul said sharply, dismissing the servant. "See to the luggage." Bowing excessively, the little man backed out of the study with a suitcase in each hand. Once the servant was gone, Al Ghul gestured towards the main entrance and said simply, "Let us go."

* * *

Al Ghul led the way outside, his long, elegant robes flowing in the morning breeze. He crossed the well-manicured lawn with confident strides, stopping midway to the main gate. "Well, here we are!" he announced.

Bruce raised a single eyebrow. "Excuse me?" He looked around, but didn't notice anything unusual. "I don't see?"

"Oh, Father, please!" Talia said exasperatedly. "Stop playing games and have Grind de-cloak The Demon." Al Ghul gave his daughter an amused glance.

"You have lost your sense of humor, my daughter." He paused. "Just like your mother when **_she_** was carrying **_you_**." At Talia's answering glare, Al Ghul quickly spoke into his collar. A hidden microphone, Bruce realized.

"Capt. Grind...de-cloak," Al Ghul ordered. "Now."

At that moment, the very air before them began to shimmer, much like a mirage in the desert. The next instant what had been an expansive, but empty well-kept lawn was suddenly filled to capacity with a gigantic craft of some kind, its design totally new to Bruce.

"Behold! The Demon!" Al Ghul called. Simultaneously, a massive door on the side opened, forming a ramp. "Come, my children! We mustn't keep Capt. Grind and his crew waiting." He checked his watch. "Right on schedule!"

* * *

Bruce said little during the flight to Al Ghul's headquarters. He spent as much time as possible in the control room, studying the new and unfamiliar instruments. Bruce was an accomplished pilot in his own rightjust one more little skill he had picked up in his travelsbut this aircraft was unlike any that he had ever seen.

Their airspeed, Bruce noted, was faster than any civilian or military transport currently on the market. In addition, they were at a cruising altitude well over the maximum altitude of a 747 or anything else Bruce was familiar with.

Anything, that is, except a spacecraft. To his admiration, the craft had been skillfully piloted to their cruising altitudesub-orbital apogee. Bruce would have loved to get his hands on the controls, but settled for remaining in the control room. This way, at least, he might still experience, if only vicariously, the sensation of flying it.

While Bruce was enjoying himself much like a young schoolboy, Talia on the other hand, had complained of a headache and excused herself to the passenger cabin. In the back of his mind, Bruce was beginning to feel concerned. Ever since her father had unexpectedly arrived at the estate, Talia's whole demeanor had changed, becoming more forceful, more commandingmore vulnerable, almost as if she were afraid of her own father.

Should she be, he wondered. He considered the millions that the aircraft must have cost her father, not just to purchase but to build. What kind of assets did the man command? What essential skills, other than his private army, did he employ?

Bruce looked around the control room. Who had designed the aircraft, he wondered. Where had it been built? And the cloaking effect? How was that achieved? He'd love to fly The Demon back to Gotham City and have the R-and-D boys at Wayne Tech do a little reverse engineering. An aircraft such as this could be of great value to him on his own sworn mission.

Bruce thought of his oath to his parents' memorya promise that he seemed to have set aside in the weeks since he had met Talia. He knew how easy it was to lose himself in her soft, brown eyes, and to allow himself to be enveloped in the promise of eternity reflected within them. When he did, his oath to his parents' memory faded into the dim recesses of his mind. He wondered whether he would even be able to keep his vow upon his return to Gotham City.

His thoughts next turned to his father-in-law. How could it be that with his personal contacts and knowledge of the world of finance, Bruce had never heard of him before? Who are you, Ra's al Ghul? And just what exactly is it that you want...?

* * *

Batman disconnected the call to the Manor. No answer. Was he too late?

He thought again about the enigmatic Ra's al Ghul, the answer to the question that had haunted him all those years ago staring him in the face. Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, Batman deftly maneuvered the Batmobile round a hairpin turn. The next instant, he turned left onto the long, dark secluded road that led towards the Batcave's hidden entrance. How could he have allowed al Ghul to run free all these years? He should have taken care of that madman when he had the chance.

Was he too late?

Deliberately shoving the memories of that long ago flight to the backburner, Batman brought the Batmobile to a screeching halt and jumped out. A flashing red light on the Batcave's security monitor station caught his eye. The same icy fist that had latched onto his throat earlier squeezed harder, nearly choking him. The Manor's top-level security, which rivaled that of the White House, had been breached. Not bothering to change into civilian clothes, the Dark Knight rushed upstairs to the Manor.

Heart pounding, he entered the study through the secret entrance. The room was in total darkness. Automatically, Batman's Starlite lenses kicked in, allowing him to see clearly even in the deep shadow. Soundlessly, he crossed the study and paused at the door, listening for any sounds from beyond.

Carefully opening the door, he noted that all the lights were out in the house, leaving the large estate in utter gloom. He took a moment to survey the main hallway on the lower floor, which bisected the Manor on a north/south axis. Secondary passageways branch off at both diagonal and perpendicular angles.

Midway down the hall, an ornate, arched entranceway announced the grand ballroom; beyond that the Manor's graceful marble staircase curved up to the second floor. Moving with the stealth of a predator on the hunt, Batman opted for one of the branch corridors that led to the vast kitchen area. Barely giving the gleaming kitchen a cursory glance, Batman took the back stairs to the family living area.

Cautiously placing each foot down, Batman again thought of the message that Gordon had given him: **_The time is at hand_**. Not if **_I_** have anything to say about it, he vowed silently.

If he had ever doubted Ra's al Ghul's mad intent, he no longer did. Al Ghul wanted his grandson. He wanted Dicky.

Batman quickly checked each room upstairs, steadily working his way down the hall until all he had left was Dicky's room. Listening for any sounds coming from the other side of the door, he turned the doorknob and slowly pushed the door open. What he saw made him freeze in place, his heart hammering in his ears.

The room was turned upside down indicating that a fierce battle had been recently fought. The antique rocking horse that always stood in the far corner lay in pieces, as if someone or something had crashed into it. The pictures that Dicky had placed with such care on the mantle lay shattered on the floor. Dicky's bedcovers were thrown everywhere, the heavy bed broken and overturned.

A low moan coming from underneath one of the mattresses galvanized Batman into action. In seconds, he had moved the mattress off the crumpled form beneath and was holding Alfred tenderly in his arms.

"Sir...? Master Richard? Is he?"

"Shhhh...don't try to talk, Old Friend," Batman murmured, checking the loyal butler for injuries. "You've got quite a bump on your head."

"How cliché," Alfred mumbled dryly.

"Welcome to the club," Batman quipped. He pulled back the Bat cowl, instantly transforming back into Bruce Wayne. "Now we can truthfully say that every member of the family has been knocked out at least once with a blow to the back of the head."

"Bloody marvelous," Alfred managed. Bruce's hard features softened into a half-smile. He checked Alfred for more injuries.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else broken. Why don't we make you more comfortable?"

Placing his hand on Bruce's arm entreatingly, Alfred shook his head. "Don't worry about me, Master Bruce. You must hurry. Those ruffians took the young master, and there's no telling where?"

"Don't worry, Alfred," Bruce said with quiet confidence. "I know exactly who has him...and where they're taking him. And I promise, we'll get our boy back." At Alfred's questioning look, Bruce answered succinctly, "Ra's al Ghul."

Eyes wide, Alfred barely whispered, "My word!"

* * *

Batman hurriedly loaded the equipment he would need on the trip. As he did, Alfred calmly checked off each item from the cargo manifest. After the last item was properly stowed, Batman began a detailed pre-flight check. He was flying the Batwing a distance farther than he had ever flown it before and wanted to ensure that he did not encounter unexpected problems en-route.

As Batman was completing the pre-flight, Alfred appeared next to him. To Batman's surprise, the proper Englishman calmly strapped himself into the co-pilot seat. Watching wordlessly, mouth agape, Batman was about to speak, when Alfred beat to the punch.

"Close your mouth, young man," Alfred scolded. "I've told before that it is a most unseemly habit." Automatically Batman closed his mouth, feeling as if he were ten all over again.

"Just where do you think **_you're_** going?" Batman demanded.

"With you."

"Not likely! You might as well just un-strap yourself and get off right now. I've got a tight schedule to keep."

"Then I suggest you stop talking and get this craft in the air," Alfred rejoined calmly. Eyes narrowed he added dangerously, "Master Richard was taken while under **_my_** care. I promise that I will make those responsible pay for their misdeeds."

End of Part Ten


	11. Chapter 11

Note: I apologize for the long break between chapters. I'm afraid that RL has been very hectic these past months. Have a great summer!

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright June 2005

* * *

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

Chapter Eleven

* * *

One hour, thirty-one minutes, and forty-two seconds later, the silence that had developed between them remained unbroken. Unable to stand it any longer, Alfred finally spoke.

"Did I ever mention that 'sulking' is not very becoming in a grown man?" Batman ignored the comment. "I'm certain that I have mentioned on numerous occasions that a host never makes a guest feel unwelcome."

At this remark, Batman turned and raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Yes, Master Bruce," Alfred said blandly, "I am speaking about you. You've been quite rude and sulky ever since we left."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course, you do, Master Bruce. After all, I myself taught you your manners. Whether or not you choose to use them appropriately--well, I'm afraid that only you can control that."

"Alfred..." Batman's tired protest showed how exhausted he was. "Just tell me what you want me to do!"

"I want you to tell me about Demon's Head," Alfred said quietly. "I want you to tell me about what happened all those years ago."

Batman did not reply for a long moment. Finally, softly at first, then his voice growing in strength, he began. "We were on approach to our final destination. The sky above was clear and blue. The ground below was a mountainous desert, seared white by the sun. That's when I saw it for the first time..."

* * *

"Demon's Head, this is The Demon. Request clearance to land."

"Demon, this is Demon's Head. You are cleared to land. Welcome home!"

As the aircraft banked on final approach, Bruce caught sight of the Demon's Head compound. No more than a small village, it lay at the base of a nearby mountain and was entirely enclosed by high walls. At each compass point, stood a guard tower watching over it. Even from the aircraft's high elevation, Bruce was able to spot the unmistakable flash of the late morning sun on gun muzzles.

However, it wasn't the manmade city that held Bruce's attention; instead, his eyes were drawn to the looming mountain that towered over the compound like a grim sentinel.

Perhaps it was due to some trick of light and shadow, or perhaps it was due to thousands of years of wind and sand acting in concert to carve out the rock and sandstone--but at first glance, the austere mountain face resembled a demon's head. It was enough to send shivers down the spine of a lesser man.

As the aircraft descended, Bruce caught a glance of a runway, lying to the west of the compound. Expecting the aircraft to turn into it, Bruce was surprised when they over-flew the runway and headed straight for the side of the mountain. About to say something, he felt a soft hand gently squeeze his arm in warning.

"Wait, Beloved," Talia murmured. In answer, Bruce laid his own hand over hers and waited. When it appeared as if they would surely crash into the Demon's Head left eye socket, the space that comprised the 'bridge of the nose' suddenly opened. From within, a series of landing lights marked their safe approach.

As they flew inside the mountain, Bruce felt the aircraft's thrusters gently slow their forward momentum, bringing them to a soft landing. He glanced down at Talia, searching her face. She gave him a brief smile that showed more pain than joy.

"Home sweet home," she muttered.

* * *

When Bruce disembarked from The Demon, he was astonished to note several aircraft identical to it lined up nose to nose along the flight deck, ready to take off at a moment's notice. It rivaled the best that Bruce had seen onboard a US aircraft carrier.

"Just below this level," Grind boasted, "is the location of the hangar deck. There, we have a fully functional aircraft maintenance facility." He pointed towards The Demon. The very floor on which it was parked was slowly dropping, lowering the prized aircraft into the darkness below. "Hydraulic elevator," he explained unnecessarily. "The control center is located one level below that," Grind continued.

Talia placed her hand on his arm as if to forestall his saying anything further. At Bruce's questioning look, she dropped her eyes and apologized softly.

"I am sorry, Beloved. It is probably just an automatic reaction on my part. We don't often allow outsiders in here--"

"Lady Talia," Grind interrupted, "the Master himself ordered me to give Mr. Wayne a brief tour of our headquarters."

"I see..." She gave Bruce a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "If that is the case, then I suppose it is all right. Please continue." However, Talia's words belied her look of unease. Bruce could only wonder what had her so worried.

"Four levels down," Grind continued, "you will find the crew's living quarters and training facilities..."

As Grind led Bruce and Talia through seemingly endless miles of corridors, he proudly kept a running commentary about the installation's many attributes. While Grind played impromptu tour guide, Bruce kept contrasting Demon's Head to what he knew about the vast defense complex deep within Cheyenne Mountain, Colorado.

A few years ago, while Bruce was still in school, WayneTech had bid on a huge defense contract to upgrade the Cheyenne Mountain Operation Center's myriad satellite tracking systems. Bruce, along with several other Fortune 500 CEOs, had been given a tour of the massive underground installation and had been impressed by the sheer size of the place. Located over two thousand feet underground, the CMOC housed about two hundred personnel from all branches of the US Armed Forces plus several Allied countries and was fully manned and operational 24/7.

The Demon's Head underground installation was by far superior. First, according to Grind the massive blast doors through which they had flown were constructed of a special titanium-steel alloy re-enforced with depleted uranium and capable of withstanding a direct nuclear attack.

"At last count," Grind added as an afterthought, "the Master's forces numbered well over two thousand. Of that, fully two hundred are trained combat pilots, while the rest are ground maneuver forces."

"Very impressive," Bruce murmured. "Your very own army and air force."

"Yes, our 'air force'--as you call it--is currently organized into fifteen operational ten-man squadrons, with five additional squadrons held in reserve."

"It sort of reminds me of an airbase on full alert," Bruce quipped, his best mindless playboy mask in place. "You said you also had ground forces? Like the men who infiltrated my home? Tell me, do you actively recruit certain skills, or do you train your recruits to meet your specifications?"

"Both. Wherever we can find them, Mr. Wayne, we hire highly trained, highly skilled professionals. When we must, we recruit and train the best and brightest young men from all around the world and offer them a better life than the one they left behind. After they complete their training, we are left with the kind of men who obey orders without question, and whose loyalty to our Master is absolute."

"I believe you, Capt. Grind," Bruce replied. "Tell me, are you expecting to go to war anytime soon?"

"War?" Grind chuckled. "Hardly. We merely train to keep the peace, Mr. Wayne."

"The peace?"

"Yes...our peace. The peace of our airspace as well as the safety within our borders." Grind turned to go. "You see, Mr. Wayne...the Master does not much care for interlopers. Please, this way. You are expected in the main hall."

* * *

When they arrived in the main hall, Grind gave Bruce and Talia an apologetic look. "Forgive me, Lady Talia, Mr. Wayne, but I have pressing duties that have already been put off for much too long." He bowed courteously. "If you will excuse me?" Without waiting for a reply, he took a step back and then turned and left.

Like everything about the place, Bruce noted that size alone made the main hall both impressive and intimidating. And right in the center, he spotted Al Ghul holding court over the local residents.

"Master, I am a poor man, a simple man. Abd al Bari sold me an ox that he promised would give me many years of labor. But his promises have proven to be as empty as my coffers. The ox took ill less than two days after I brought it home with me and died two days after that."

"What do ask of me, Ashraf?" Al Ghul spoke quietly.

"I only ask for justice, Excellency. I ask that Abd al Bari refund me the gold I paid for the sickly ox he sold me."

"Sickly!" Another man stepped forward, protesting angrily. Bruce assumed this was Abd al Bari. "I sold this--this incompetent fool--a sound, high quality ox. He says the ox became ill! Master, allow me to describe the cause of this so-called 'illness'!" Al Bari pointed accusingly at Ashraf. "This idiot allowed the prize ox that I sold him to graze in the Valley of Skulls!"

At his words, a sudden gasp from the crowd rang in the main hall. A loud murmur soon buzzed, drowning out the proceedings.

"What's the Valley of Skulls?" Bruce asked Talia. He had to raise his voice slightly in order to be heard above the din.

"It's an area about ten leagues west of here," she explained somewhat reluctantly, "where the unwary that wander in have been known to meet an untimely end. It is forbidden to enter it."

"What kind of untimely end?" Bruce asked. Before Talia could answer, one of Al Ghul's officers called the hall to order.

"Silence! The Master will speak!"

"Ashraf, is what Al Bari says true?" Al Ghul asked quietly. "You allowed your prize ox to graze in the forbidden area?" In answer, Ashraf prostrated himself before Al Ghul.

"No, Master!" he cried. "The ignorant animal wandered in of its own volition!" He looked up, pleading. "I swear it on my mother's grave!"

"Such an oath would have greater meaning, Excellency," Al Bari interjected, "if Ashraf's mother were **_indeed_** dead!" At his words, the great hall rang with amused laughter and loud jeers.

"Perhaps Ashraf should have had his **_mother_** wander into the Valley of Skulls!" someone shouted.

"Yes...then the old fishwife would at last **_be_** dead!" another agreed. Their cruel comments were met with yet more laughter and taunts from the audience. Again, Al Ghul's senior officer stepped forward and silenced the hall. At last, all eyes fell on Al Ghul who sat very still, his hands clasped before him as if in prayer. After what seemed an eternity, he finally spoke.

"Ashraf, you swore earlier that Al Bari had sold you a defective animal," Al Ghul reminded sternly. "Are you now admitting that you lied to me?" Another collective gasp echoed involuntarily from the assembled audience.

"No, your Excellency!" cried Ashraf.

"You did not say that Al Bari sold you a defective animal?" Al Ghul asked coldly.

"Master, please!" Ashraf pleaded. "I am a poor man! I have a wife and five children! I-I am also the sole support of an elderly, sickly mother. I cannot afford another ox!" By now the unfortunate, frightened man was blubbering. "Please...I did not mean to offend thee. I am a poor man--!"

"Take him away," Al Ghul sounded bored. "Next--!"

Ashraf was dragged off, crying in terror, by two of Al Ghul's men. His frightened pleas echoed in the great hall long after he had disappeared down a shadowy corridor.

"Let us go, Beloved," Talia said, pulling at his arm.

"Wait." Bruce looked at her searchingly. "Where are they taking that poor guy?" Talia looked away momentarily. Straightening her shoulders, she faced him, her expression cool.

"Ashraf lied to my father," she said. "For now, he will be imprisoned. Until..."

"Until what?" Bruce prompted.

"Until my father passes sentence." Talia held her chin up, but she did not look Bruce in the eyes. "There can be only one punishment for such a serious offense." She paused. "Death."

"Death?" Bruce looked shocked. "You're joking, right?" Talia shook her head.

"No, Beloved," she whispered. "This is how we observe justice."

"Justice?" Bruce spluttered. "This isn't justice! This is murder! Plain and simple!"

"Please, Beloved," Talia urged quietly. "Such talk can only be considered seditious, treasonous--also punishable by death!"

"Death?" Bruce dropped his voice to match hers. "For speaking my mind? I thought you said your father believed that 'all life is precious'? Or was **_that_** all a lie?"

"Bruce, you do not as yet understand our ways. You must not judge until you have had time to learn more about my people."

"Judge? I'm not the one who's going to condemn a poor, ignorant man to death for lying!" Bruce grabbed Talia by the shoulders. "What about compassion? What about extenuating circumstances? The man has a family, Talia! Surely your father will take that into consideration before--!" By then Talia was urgently pulling at him to follow her.

"**_Come_**! You must not speak thus here! You might be overheard. We **_must_** go!" Talia spoke with an insistence that bordered on deep fear. At first Bruce resisted, wanting to head in the direction that Ashraf had been taken, but finally, he reluctantly allowed Talia to lead him away.

He would find a way to help poor Ashraf, Bruce vowed. But as he walked in the opposite direction that Ashraf had been taken, Bruce knew that the poor man's fate had been sealed...

* * *

Alfred listened raptly as the story unfolded, impressed by the description of Demon's Head and shocked by the unknown fate of the poor farmer. Abruptly, Batman's voice died out and he did not continue. As the silence lengthened, Alfred sensed that the events that had followed were probably too painful for the younger man to revisit. He was about to resign himself to not knowing what happened next, when Batman's soft voice resumed his narrative...

End of Part 11


	12. Chapter 12

Note: I've received so many requests for me to continue this story that I thought I'd give it a whirl. I've gone over my old notes and hope to be able to get back to what my original intentions were with the story.

Footnote: Thanks to "10 Most Amazing Extinct Animals."

Disclaimer: All characters belong to DC and Time/Warner; this is an original story that doesn't intend to infringe on their copyright. Feedback is welcome.

Copyright February 2008

Wish Upon a Star

By Syl Francis

* * *

Chapter Twelve 

"This way," Talia said. She spoke little as she led Bruce back the same way they had come with Grind. Now, she stopped before a large, vault-sized door. Turning to him, Talia looked like she was about to speak but abruptly changed her mind. Instead, she placed her palm on an upright, security scanner. Instantly, an amber light glowed from the stand, enveloping her hand, apparently scanning her palm. The next moment, the light turned green. Simultaneously, a matching green light flashed on the security door, and Bruce heard a distinct hiss from inside as if an airlock had been released.

Still not speaking, Talia placed her palm on a small square just to the right of the door. Immediately, the massive door silently swung open. Bruce wondered about the high security measures. What could possibly be behind the door that was so important it required this type of protection?

To his surprise, as soon as they entered, the door closed behind them with a loud, resounding echo. He turned to Talia, but paused when she shook her head.

"Not yet, Beloved. You will see soon enough. Here--!" This last was spoken as she handed him what looked like an environmental suit. Not waiting for him to reply, Talia turned and started removing her outer clothing. Shaking his head, Bruce followed suit.

Within a few minutes, they were both dressed in white protective suits that included their own ventilation system. Talia showed him how to operate his, helping him set it to a comfortable temperature.

"Talia, what is this all about? Why are we--?" Bruce stopped. Talia had pressed a hidden switch, revealing what lay on the other side of a large, glass enclosure.

Bruce and Talia stood inside a small observation booth that overlooked a massive underground laboratory. At least, Bruce believed that it was a laboratory--or, perhaps an elaborate environmental biosphere.

Not sure of what he was observing, Bruce watched as several figures in environmental suits similar to his checked readings on electronic surveillance equipment, temperature gauges, and instruments whose purpose he could only guess. There was too much to see, too much to take in at a glance.

However, as interesting as what the people down below might be doing, they were not what held his attention. For beyond the banks of computers, dials, and endless monitors were row upon row of large cages--no, 'cages' was too primitive a term for what lay before them.

Bruce recalled how Alfred, in an endeavor to provide him with as 'normal' a childhood as possible, had on several occasions taken him on outings to the Gotham City Zoo--dragged him would be a more appropriate term, Bruce admitted privately--and had tried to instill in him the necessity of protecting endangered species.

While the visits had largely bored the precocious child, Bruce had been fascinated by how individual species were placed in habitats that carefully simulated their home environment. What he now saw from the observation room reminded Bruce of those visits to the zoo.

"A zoo," he said as if to confirm it. "Why do you have a zoo down here?" He shook his head. "And why all the security?"

"This isn't just any zoo, Beloved," Talia answered, a touch of pride lighting her features. "This is one of Father's greatest achievements. Come...I will show you."

Talia took his hand and led him down two flights of stairs, eventually arriving at a set of double glass doors. She swiped a card through a metallic scanner, and the doors soundlessly slid open. "This way," she said. Bruce followed, curious in spite of himself.

Talia walked up to a tall figure in a protective suit who was bent over a computer monitor. "Hello, Almira. It has been a long time."

The figure instantly whirled around, and to Bruce's surprise, an older woman's delighted face smiled at them. He noted almond-shaped eyes that were crinkled with laugh lines, showing that this was a woman who enjoyed life. "Talia!" Immediately the two women were in each other's arms. "Oh, Talia! When did you get back? Why did you not tell me? How long have you been home?"

Talia laughed at the rapid-fire questions. "Almira, my sweet Almira, you have not changed. It is so good to see you again. How I have missed you."

"And I you!" As if a new thought struck her, she asked, "Did the Master send for you at long last? He has been beside himself these past few months without his precious Talia by his side."

Talia shook her head. "No, he did not send for me, my friend." She paused and gave Almira a soft smile. "He came to visit me."

Almira gasped. "Indeed? Then, he must have been missing his daughter even more than he admitted to me."

"Yes...perhaps that is so," Talia said. To Bruce her voice sounded carefully noncommittal.

Almira acknowledged Bruce for the first time and turned questioning eyes on Talia. "And who is this?" she asked teasingly. Talia smiled in the only way she could when talking about Bruce. She fairly glowed.

"My dearest Almira, I wish to introduce you to my husband--Mr. Bruce Wayne." She turned to Bruce. "Beloved, I wish to introduce you to my oldest and dearest friend, Dr. Almira Binte Tahir. Almira became a second mother to me when my own, beloved mother died in a tragic accident."

"Husband?" Almira repeated startled. "When--? Oh, Talia, how could you marry and not tell me?" she scolded gently. Turning to Bruce, she held out her hand. "Mr. Wayne, it is a pleasure to meet you. Never in my life would I have believed that there lived the man who would conquer this spirited young one's heart."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Dr. Binte Tahir," Bruce replied.

"Oh, please...call me Dr. Almira--everybody does." Taking Talia by the arm, she led them to a small office off to the side. "Tell me, my dear, when did all this happen?"

"Just two days ago." Talia laughed out loud at the older woman's bemused expression. "Please, my dearest Almira, do not be cross with me. My beloved asked me to marry him the day before yesterday--at exactly ten in the morning--" She added with a smile. "--And I accepted." She gazed lovingly at Bruce. "How could I not? To have said 'no' would have been unthinkable as I do not believe that I could ever live without him."

Almira listened with the wisdom of one who had loved and lost long ago. "Yes..." she said, nodding thoughtfully. A faraway look came upon her. "I, too, had a choice once long ago," she said. "Pursue my dreams of university and scientific studies or marry the boy I loved, stay at home, and raise his children." She sighed, looking back in her mind's eye.

Blinking suddenly, Almira returned to the present and shrugged. "Well, that's all in the past. Besides--" She gave a short laugh. "--The very day I turned him down, he married the first girl he met, and they had ten children together." She gave them a bright smile. "And I have my studies and my laboratory. In all, everyone ended up happy." She placed her hands gently on the couple's shoulders. "I am so very gratified for the both of you. I wish you a long life together and prosperity."

"Thank you, Almira," Talia said gratefully. "Your blessing means more to me than you can know." Then changing the subject abruptly, she asked, "I was wondering if you would mind showing Bruce your wondrous pets?"

"Have you asked your father?" Almira looked unsure.

"No, not really," Talia admitted. "But Father did welcome Bruce into the family and said that this was now his home for as long he wished." She shrugged. "But if you think that Father would not approve--?"

Almira shook her head and shrugged. "Well, if the Master has welcomed you into the fold, Mr. Wayne, I see no reason why you shouldn't be given the grand tour of his zoo."

"Please, it's Bruce," Bruce said with a half-smile. "I mean, like you said...I'm a member of the family now."

"Indeed he is, Dr. Almira."

They all turned toward the sound of the new voice--Ra's al Ghul. He was also in a protective suit, and yet, rather than the decidedly awkward gait that the others displayed while confined within the suits, Al Ghul moved with the same grace that he did in his flowing robes.

"Talia is correct. Bruce is now a member of my family and should be afforded all the rights and privileges of his position--to include a personal tour of our little zoo."

* * *

Al Ghul gave Bruce a measuring look, the kind to which Bruce was growing accustomed, the kind that reminded Bruce of being studied under a microscope. Bruce returned Al Ghul's gaze without flinching. He thought he saw something in the older man's eyes, something that seemed to indicate surprise or approval. Bruce could not be certain. 

"Permit me to show you around our little zoo," Al Ghul offered. "We are all understandably very proud of it. Come."

With each passing moment, Bruce's excitement grew. Each exhibit displayed what could only be described as a miracle. Species that had long been extinct—primates, carnivores, even samples of sea mammals—stared out at him from behind their display cases. Al Ghul pointed out a few that he rightly took extra pride in.

"The last recorded sighting of the Thylacine, or Tasmanian Tiger," Al Ghul intoned, indicating a snarling wolf-like animal that stood protectively over a recent kill, "was purportedly around 1936 in the island of Tasmania. Yet, due to the brilliant efforts of my scientists, led by Dr. Almira, the Tasmanian Tiger lives and hunts again."

"But how--?" Bruce began.

Al Ghul held up his hand in a staying motion. "All in good time, my son." He continued the tour, pausing before another exhibit.

Bruce saw two large tigers, lounging before the open mouth of what was probably their cave lair. The animals had coloring similar to that of the Bengal tiger, rather big paws with exceptionally large claws.

"The Caspian Tiger was the third largest in the world," Al Ghul said without preamble. "Because of Man's shortsightedness, this beautiful creature became extinct in 1970. Dr. Almira's miracle workers first success was cloning these two exquisite specimens—a male and female—Shamir and Sahfra." He paused. "Talia picked the names."

"Shamir and Sahfra," Talia said with a smile. "The names mean 'precious stone' and 'sapphire.' Shamir and Sahfra are our two precious jewels. Our hope is that they will mate naturally and become the sire and dam of a new line."

"If that fails," Dr. Almira added, "then we will artificially inseminate Sahfra with Shamir's seed."

Bruce stared in admiration at the two exotic, supposedly extinct tigers. He shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

"There is no need for words, Beloved," Talia said, taking his hand. "Let your eyes and ears be witness to what only a handful of people have been privileged to see."

Nodding, Bruce allowed her to lead him through the rest of the exclusive, one-of-a-kind zoo.

All too soon, they came to the last of the exhibits.

"This brings us to the end of our little tour, my son, "Al Ghul said, "but not the end of our efforts to recover our planet's lost species. The final exhibit could be said to be the 'poster child' of extinct species—the Dodo bird. A gentle, flightless bird from the island of Mauritius, the Dodo has been extinct since the Seventeenth Century. Hunted to near extinction, it finally died out once its natural habitat was destroyed by human encroachment."

Al Ghul shook his head. "Nature placed Man here to be the earth's steward; instead, we have betrayed her trust and have become Nature's most vicious destroyer." He closed his eyes. "A day of reckoning is coming, my children, and we must do everything in our power to be ready."

"I don't understand," Bruce said.

Al Ghul again held his hand up in a staying motion. "All in good time, Bruce. All in good time." He placed his hand over his heart and bowed slightly. "Forgive me, but I have duties I must attend to. Will you join me for dinner tonight at eight o'clock?" 

Before Bruce or Talia could reply, Almira spoke.

"What Ra's al Ghul requests is a command," she sad with a slight bow. "And as always it is our honor, Master." Almira added this last with a twinkle in her eye. To Bruce's surprise Al Ghul returned her smile.

Talia and Bruce also murmured their acceptance.

"Good. Then I shall expect you at dinner." Al Ghul bowed formally, turned and left.

Bruce looked at Talia, but she shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes. 

End of Chapter 12


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